A Walk Through Hell
by TayaHearts
Summary: Mimi is just a typical girl, right? Then how did she get involved with a torture-crazed crime group and a certain pair of Irish vigilantes? Rated for extreme language.
1. She

**Okay guys, here goes another story. I recently discovered (I know, I must have been living under a rock) the Boondock Saints and all the wonderful beauty that is Norman Reedus and Sean Patrick Flannery. It has been driving my fiance insane because I keep watching the movies over and over. Literally. I think my Boondock Saints dvds have been watched more times than my son's Diego movies, and that is saying something. **

**This originally started as a short workshop for my fiction writing class. I drew two slips of paper out of a hat. I just started writing and this is what came out. Of course it ended up being over 100 pages so I definitely couldn't use it for class, plus somehow it had ended up about the Boondock Saints, which I definitely don't own and don't even pretend to own (as much as I'd like to). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, because I definitely enjoyed writing it! **

Chapter One

She

_She_

_She screams in silence_

_A sullen riot penetrating through her mind_

_Waiting for a sign_

_To smash the silence with the brick of self-control_

_-"She" (Green Day)_

Stewart Memorial Hospital was the worst kind of shit-hole, and I'd been in my fair share of shit-holes. They said that our wing wasn't really part of the hospital. I guess they said it to make us feel normal. We all knew better. The only thing that separated St. Rose from the ER was a little enclosed walkway and two sets of automatic doors that locked after eight p.m.

The hallways in our wing were awful. They were a twisting maze of parqueted floors and bare walls under fluorescent lights so bright they would melt your fucking eyes if you looked at them too long. There were also an exceptional amount of nurses' stations in our wing, as if they thought we were planning a revolt. And they weren't just normal nurses' stations, either. They were completely separated from the hallways; the only way to get behind that desk was with an electronic key card.

The rooms weren't quite as bad. At least the lighting wasn't as fierce. And we had beds that were more like real beds than hospital beds. We were allowed as much stuff from home as we wanted, so long as it passed inspection, so most of our rooms were bursting at the seams with knick-knacks and comforts.

My room was no different. I was a minimalist at heart, so I hadn't brought much. Not that I'd had much to begin with. There was a blanket on my bed that my grandmother had knitted and a picture frame with a photograph of my older sister. That was the extent of my personal belongings aside from a stack of books halfway hidden under the bed.

The rest of the stuff in my room belonged to my roommate Valerie. Val loved stuff. There were stuffed animals piled in the armchair in the corner, and no one was allowed to touch them but her. Posters of pop stars and ripped actors covered the cream-colored walls like wallpaper; stacks of wobbling VHS tapes sat around our little television that only got four channels, because apparently anything other than the Disney Channel, Nickelodeon, the History Channel, and PBS were detrimental to our health.

Val was a real character. She'd come to St. Rose's a couple weeks before me, so she felt that she was in charge even though I was older. She had orange hair and a vicious sneer that she liked to turn on everyone. I think she thought it was a smile. Her official diagnosis was a panic disorder. It made hanging out with her interesting, if nothing else.

We were supposed to spend the day going to therapy. I don't know why they thought that running around a track in the gymnasium or painting a still life would fix us. It certainly didn't fix me.

Most of the day I slipped away to the main part of the hospital. Hanging out in the waiting room of the ER, watching other people's problems, made me feel a hell of a lot better than sitting in the culinary arts room watching an obese nurse eat everything she was supposed to be showing us how to cook. I always had to go back to St. Rose for individual and group therapy, though. Individual therapy was every day, but group therapy was only once a week. You really got in trouble if you missed those.

There were only eight of us full-timers registered at St. Rose's. Bex was the youngest; she was only fifteen. Patrick was the eldest at twenty-nine. The rest of us just fell somewhere in between.

I'd been at St. Rose's for six months now, I thought miserably, glancing over at Val. It was only a quarter to eight, but she was burrowed down under a mound of stuffed animals in bed, watching the Little Mermaid on our television, content not to move again until morning. Six fucking months and I was no closer to being released than I'd been the night I was admitted. At St. Rose, you can't be discharged until your doctors think you're ready. And they _never_ think you're ready. They must have a real lack of confidence in their rehabilitation skills.

I closed my book and got out of bed. Val didn't even look up; she was too busy singing along to 'Part of your World.' I grabbed my sweatshirt and ducked out of the room. The door was already open.

The hallways were deserted now. Most of the Crazies were in the common room; it was Tuesday, which meant Movie Madness night. The movies were always ridiculous G-rated monstrosities, films that made Val's Disney movies seem risque. The nurses were relaxed, chattering. It was almost time for the night shift to come on.

I sidled over to the automatic doors leading to the main hospital. I had fifteen minutes before these doors were locked, and I planned to be on the other side when they were. Nights in the ER were usually pretty boring, but it beat listening to Disney movies on repeat.

The nurses would have stopped me if they'd seen me; they knew I was aware of what time the doors locked. But they didn't, and I slipped across the walkway with no one the wiser.

The main part of Stewart Memorial was even worse than the St. Rose wing. Everything was brighter, louder, more abrasive. I loved it; I don't know why. Nurses, interns, and surgeons scurried along the corridors dressed in matching navy scrubs, some in lab coats and others with stacks of charts in their arms. Maybe it was the hustle and bustle that made it so appealing, I thought as I made my way to the Emergency Room waiting area. I settled into one of the uncomfortable chairs, curling my legs up around me, pulling the sleeve of my sweatshirt down to cover the hospital ID bracelet that established me as a patient.

There weren't many people in the ER now. There was a middle-aged woman who couldn't quit coughing into a handkerchief while her husband fluttered around her worriedly and an elderly man reading a magazine. Nothing too exciting.

I picked at my chipped nail polish, wondering if tonight was going to be a waste after all. It _was_ only Tuesday. But, as boring as the ER currently was, it was nothing compared to the St. Rose wing.

A paramedic walked through the doors with a chart in his hand. He looked tired, but he smiled at me and came over instead of going straight to the counter. His name-tag said Ian. "Hey there, Mimi." He took the seat next to me, resting the clipboard on his knee. "Scoping out the disaster scene tonight?"

"Not much going on," I muttered, gesturing to the nearly empty waiting room. "Is it bad for me to hope for a disaster?"

He chuckled. "A little bit." He paused to check his watch. "Eight o'clock. Guess you're playing the truant now."

"Yep." There was no need to hide it. Everyone in the ER knew me by name now, knew my odd habits. Sometimes I felt I could diagnose people better than the damn doctors.

The paramedic yawned. "Well, I'd better get this chart in before I get off duty. I'll see you Thursday."

"Have a good day off," I answered. I should've been nicer to him, I thought. At least he was talking to me. More than I could say for anyone else in the waiting room.

Ian spent about twenty minutes at the counter, arguing with the curly-haired nurse on duty there. Finally he relinquished the chart and left, giving me one last smile before he slipped out the door to go home.

The nurse was a big hulking woman by the name of Erin. I called her Bertha instead. She wasn't a very nice nurse. She leaned over the counter, her massive basoomas resting on the sign-in sheet.

"It's after eight, kid," she frowned at me through her glasses. "Isn't it time you get back to St. Rose? The doors should be locked by now."

I pretended not to hear her. I wasn't causing any trouble. I wasn't trying to kill anyone or screaming maniacally. Compared to the rest of the Crazies, I was pretty damn normal. Bertha continued to frown, but she settled into her chair and went back to her charts.

It was cold in the waiting room. I balled my hands up inside my sweatshirt sleeves and hunkered down deeper in my chair. My gaze wandered to the ancient television set above the elderly gentleman's head; there was a news report about a group of mobsters that had been murdered. I didn't pay close attention. The amount of crime in the city was old news.

Things were getting boring. Maybe I'd have better luck with the Crazies and Movie Madness night. At least then I'd have something interesting to look at. I told myself that if no one walked in the door in the next five minutes, I'd go back to St. Rose. I'd have to get a nurse to let me through the locked doors, which would result in a lecture I could recite by heart at this point, but I was ready for it.

I didn't wear a watch. Dr. Mendoza seemed to think time was irrelevant for me and didn't allow it, so I counted the five minutes in my head. I was at two hundred and fifty-one seconds when the Emergency Room doors swished open and two guys stumbled in. I stopped counting at once. This was my type of emergency.

One of the men was unconscious, entirely supported by the other. They were both wearing jeans and black wool coats despite the humidity of the August evening, and there was so much blood. I felt myself get excited just at the sight of it. My mind immediately jumped to a million different scenarios, each more impossible than the last. Dr. Mendoza often said that I needed to calm my overactive imagination. Funny, I thought the drugs were supposed to do that.

Even though it was clear that the unconscious man needed immediate attention, Bertha took her sweet time paging someone and getting out of her creaky chair.

The orderlies and nurses came through the locked doors leading back to the main part of the Emergency Room, pushing a gurney.

"What happened?" one of the nurses asked sharply. I recognized him, though not by name. I didn't like him.

The second man hesitated, his stricken eyes never leaving his companion's unconscious face. "He was shot," he explained in a thick Irish accent, not looking up. "We were leaving the pub and some fuckers mugged us. Shot him six fucking times!"

The nurses barked commands to the orderlies. I didn't have to hear them to know what they were going to do. He was coding; that much was clear. Once he was on the gurney I could see he'd been shot in the chest, and a bullet in the lung was no trifle to be plucked out, sewn up, and sent on his way. No, they'd be rushing him to the OR to try and control the internal bleeding. For a moment I wished I'd be allowed in the operating room. Then the orderlies were pushing the gurney through the doors.

The second man made to follow them, but Bertha stepped in his path; there's no getting around her when she does that. She had a clipboard in hand. "Are you related?"

"Aye, that's my fucking brother!" the man snapped, tense. He obviously wasn't happy to see his brother being rolled down the hall without him.

Bertha held out the clipboard and a pen to him. "I need you to fill out this paperwork to the best of your ability."

The man took the clipboard helplessly. "Can't I go with him and fill this out after?"

"No." Bertha was insistent. "He's going into surgery; you'll not be allowed in the operating room anyway. We'll keep you updated on his progress."

Then she settled herself back behind her desk and continued with her paperwork as if even gunshot wounds couldn't interest her. The man glared at her with a loathing I could identify with, and then he took the clipboard and sat down in a chair by the door. He stared down at the clipboard, perplexed. His hands were shaking. There was a cigarette tucked behind his ear and it looked like he desperately wanted to rip it out and smoke it.

I watched him for a few minutes, no longer bored. He just stared at the paperwork, the pen clenched tightly in his trembling hand. He made no move to write anything. He stared, not seeing.

Even though I was supposed to be the crazy one, I felt sorry for the guy. He was obviously having a traumatic experience. I'd seen other people react this way too. A couple weeks back there was a real bad traffic accident. There had been twenty people reacting this way then. I'd sat quietly and studied them, but I hadn't pitied them. They'd had loved ones around to comfort them. This guy had nothing.

I unfolded myself from my chair and sat down next to him, gently taking the clipboard and pen from him. Bertha didn't even glance up from her work. She was listening to her headphones now.

The man looked at me with intense blue eyes, surprised. "And just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you out," I answered calmly, balancing the clipboard on my knee. "What's your brother's full name?"

He didn't answer, just frowned at me. Up close I could see there was a stylized tattoo of the Virgin Mary on his neck and the Latin word _ĀÉQUITĀS_ on his right hand.

I blew a loose strand of hair out of my face. "Here's how this works," I said. "Your brother is having surgery right now. There's no way in hell they'll let you into that operating room. As soon as he's out, however, they'll take you back to the surgical waiting room. They might even let you see him. But only if you've filled out the paperwork. Now, what is your brother's full name?"

"Connor MacManus," he finally answered, watching me write with a certain sort of relief.

I couldn't help but smile. Now we were getting somewhere. Once I got him talking, he filled out the forms easily. His brother apparently had the cleanest slate of anyone I'd ever met before; not even a broken arm as a kid. He was healthy as a horse. It was a shame he'd been shot.

"Well, there you go," I announced, returning the clipboard and pen to him, forms fully filled out. "Now you'll be ready and rearing to go as soon as your brother gets out of surgery."

He took the clipboard; his hands had stopped trembling. The shock was wearing off, but not the fatigue. I saw it in his eyes. "Thanks, lass," he muttered.

"No problem. I hope your brother's okay," I answered, tucking my legs back up under me. "I can't believe this city. So much crime."

"You're telling me," he agreed with a grim look that wasn't quite a smile but almost. He left his seat to hand his clipboard to Bertha, who didn't even look up, but then he returned and stuck out his hand to me. "Me name's Murphy."

I shook his hand; it dwarfed mine but was much paler. "Mimi," I answered.

That's when Bertha noticed me. She lumbered to her feet and slammed her fat hands down on her counter, rattling the plastic pen holder. "Mimi!" she practically growled. Even the middle-aged woman and the elderly man looked up. "Quit bothering that man! Get back to your room before I call security!"

I unfolded myself from my seat immediately. You could tell when Bertha meant business and even I wouldn't cross her then. "Nice to meet you," I called over my shoulder, drifting towards the walkway to St. Rose as quickly as I could. Bertha huffily resumed her seat.

I crossed the walkway and had to press the button outside the St. Rose wing for about five minutes before one of the night nurses came over to unlock the door.

"What are you doing in the main part of the hospital, Mimi?" she asked with an exasperated sigh, the same way she always did when she let me in after hours. "You know you're supposed to be in this wing by eight."

I shrugged, pulling my sweatshirt over my head. There was no need to hide my ID bracelet here in the psych wing. "There was a gunshot vic. It was interesting. I got distracted."

"Mm-hm." She was used to my excuses. They all were. "Well, Movie Madness is over. Why don't you get back to your room? Val was asking for you a few minutes ago."

_Great_, I thought to myself. She probably wanted me to reenact the scene in the Little Mermaid where Ariel kills the Sea Witch. She'd make me be the Sea Witch. Again.

She was still in bed when I came into our room. The doors always stayed open, even when we were asleep. Our doctors insisted on it. Val looked up at me; she'd moved on to the Lion King and was bawling. She must have gotten to the part where Mufasa dies. She _always_ cries at that part.

"It's so sad, Mimi," she sniffed, holding out her arms to me. She was eighteen, a grown woman in any culture, but she looked more like an eight-year-old at the moment. "Can you believe that his own brother would do that?"

I sighed but crossed over and got into bed with her, putting my arms around her slender shoulders. Val didn't eat much; she'd lost fifteen pounds just since she'd been at St. Rose. The panic attacks made it worse. "It is sad," I agreed. "But everyone has to die. Like Mufasa says, it's the circle of life."

I was only repeating the movie, but Val seemed to find solace in it. Even though it was only nine, she fell asleep. I left the movie on to lull her into a deeper slumber as I slipped into our bathroom.

The bathroom was the only place we ever got any privacy, and even there it wasn't much. The lights were automatic; as soon as the door opened they came on and wouldn't go off until all motion had stopped. Though they never told us, we all knew that when the lights came on, so did the microphones. There was a nurse employed only to listen to us when we were in the bathroom, to make sure we weren't doing anything we weren't supposed to. You know, like forcing ourselves to throw up or taking unauthorized pills. It was awkward trying to use the restroom while someone was listening very intently, but it was better than video cameras.

The lights came on and I shut the door behind me. The bathroom was a tiny, narrow little cubicle with a toilet, a sink, and a shower with no tub. There was no lock on the door. Everything was cleaned religiously; the smell of disinfectant was always overwhelming. I reached into the shower and turned the knob toward hot.

I found myself thinking about the strange Irish man I'd met in the ER waiting room as I stripped off my t-shirt and jeans. I met a lot of people in the main part of the hospital, people who were more interesting than this guy, but for some reason he intrigued me. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, I thought, stepping under the scalding spray and letting it wash over me. There was a haunted look there, one I recognized well. Almost all the Crazies were sane enough to have that look.

"Mimi," came the bemused voice over the intercom, just as I'd known it would. "I know you like hot showers but turn the temperature down a little. I'd hate to have to register this as an attempt to harm yourself."

"Fine," I grumbled, turning the knob. "Better?" The nurse didn't answer; I took her silence for assent.

That was the problem with St. Rose, I grimaced. They wouldn't even let me take a shower the way I wanted. It was the fucking story of my life.

**There you go. Chapter one. I hope you all enjoyed! Please review!**

**P.S.: One of the things I drew out of the hat was a chance meeting at a hospital! You'll have to wait until my other prompt comes into play to find out what it is! **


	2. I'm so Sick

**I'd like to give a special thanks to ErisandDysnomia for her wonderful review (and for talking to me all day about the glory that is Norman Reedus and Sean Patrick Flannery, neither of which I own). I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!**

_I'm so sick_

_Infected with where I live_

_Let me live without this_

_Selfishness_

_-"I'm so Sick" by Flyleaf_

The next day was group therapy day, so, as much as I wanted to slip out of the psych wing all day, I couldn't risk it. They'd already written on my chart that I had a problem with authority.

"I hate group therapy day," Val was saying as we dressed that morning. Her voice was thick; I could sense an attack coming on. Group therapy usually did that to her. Crowds in general did that to her.

I pulled my denim shorts over my hospital-issued panties. They didn't let us wear our own underwear; for the life of me I couldn't figure out why other than the fact that one of the Crazies, Allison, had a terrible fear of nylon. "Why don't you bring Mr. Bear?" I suggested, gesturing to the worn teddy bear that she slept with every night.

Val smiled that vicious sneer at me and snatched the bear up. In six months I'd learned to manipulate her. I should have been the doctor.

There was a knock on the door as I pulled my gray t-shirt over my head and one of the nurses appeared, two little plastic cups in her gloved hands. "Val, Mimi," she called, taking a step into our room. "Time to take your meds!"

"We haven't eaten yet," Val pointed out, not that she ever ate much anyway. It was just an excuse to not take her medication.

The nurse frowned at us. "It's eleven o'clock. You'll have to take them on an empty stomach." She handed us each a cup with our names clearly labeled on it.

I tossed back my handful of pills all at once and gulped them down without water. So much medication, I thought, and yet no one was getting better. "Come on, Val," I muttered, tossing my cup in the garbage bin. "Let's go get some breakfast."

She slipped her hand in mine as we crossed the walkway into the main part of the hospital. The cafeteria was located on the first floor, near the overpriced gift shop and the hospitality office. It wasn't very crowded; mostly doctors on break with a few tired visitors picking at their cardboard-tasting food.

Though there was a wide array of food available for purchase, we weren't allowed to eat it. We didn't have the money to buy any of it, anyway. We walked up to the patients' station and showed the man in the hair net our identification bracelets. He handed us each a tray, identical down to the fruit cup and cartons of orange juice in the corner.

We took our trays and carried them over to a square table in the corner, where we could be out of the way. I looked down at my three pancakes, granola bar, and fruit cup. There was no butter and no syrup. The pancakes almost weren't worth eating. Val settled Mr. Bear into one of the empty chairs.

"Are you going to bring your artwork to group?" Val asked, tearing her pancake into little pieces without eating any of it.

I grimaced. I hadn't actually _done_ any artwork since the last group therapy. I'd skipped every art therapy. "Yeah, I'll bring something." I pushed my pancakes around and reached for my fruit cup. At least it had flavor.

Val tore off the tiniest piece of pancake and put it in her mouth, chewing it for much longer than was necessary. She gazed into nothing.

I took a bite of fruit, my thoughts wandering. I never really felt like I belonged at St. Rose. I wasn't like Val or Bex or Patrick or any of the rest of them. I was part of the Crazies, but I wasn't crazy. Was I? I glanced down at my wrists. They were no longer bandaged. The red, puffy scars were clearly visible.

"Mimi?" the voice interrupted my musings, and I quickly shoved my hands into my lap. That Irish voice was unmistakeable. Val's eyes had gotten as wide as saucers. An attack was imminent; she hated strangers.

I turned to look up at him. He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand and bags under his eyes; he must have had a sleepless night.

"Hi." I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice. I felt strangely stupid to be sitting there with my patients' portion of breakfast.

He glanced at Mr. Bear and Val for the briefest of seconds. Val had begun drumming her fingers on the tabletop frantically, her wide-eyed gaze never leaving the Irishman's face. "Mind if I sit?"

There was a squeak as Val's chair scooted back several inches. The plastic salt shaker toppled over, spilling salt across the Formica tabletop.

I got to my feet. "Just give me a second," I said softly. He nodded politely and retreated a few feet. I plucked Mr. Bear out of his seat and handed him to Val. "Hey Val," I said with an air of surprise. "Does Cinderella ever marry her prince? I can't remember..."

"Of course, dummy!" she answered immediately. "She kept the second glass slipper, remember?"

"That's right." I put a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you go watch it real fast before group so we can talk about it?"

Val, innocent, naive Val, smiled. Crisis averted. I was a pro at this. "Okay. See you at group. Don't forget your artwork." She took Mr. Bear and left, smiling to herself.

I caught Murphy's eye and he came and joined me, sitting in the seat Mr. Bear had just vacated. He was wearing the same blue jeans and black t-shirt from the night before. The blood had been scrubbed clean from his skin but I could still see some on the cotton shirt.

"Murphy, right?" I asked, though I hadn't forgotten. I never forgot. "How's your brother doing?"

"He's doing as well as can be expected, I guess." He took a sip of his coffee. "He came out of surgery okay, but he hasn't woken up yet. They've got all sorts of tubes and shit hooked up to him." He paused to shake his head. "Can I buy you a coffee?" he offered.

I forced a smile and showed my bracelet. "Not allowed." It was almost like an apology.

"So you're a patient here," he commented, leaning back in his chair.

I nodded, pushing my tray away from me. "Yep. For six months now. The ER is like a theme park for me."

"That girl a patient too?" He was obviously referring to Val.

I nodded, running my fingers through my loose hair. "That's Valerie. She's been here longer than I have. She sort of needs someone to look out for her."

"That's a right nice thing for you to do," he commented in that thick accent of his.

I shrugged. I didn't feel like telling him she was my roommate. "So what really happened last night when your brother got shot?" I asked instead.

"What do you mean?" He seemed to tense up at once, the hand holding his coffee clenching.

I leveled my gaze at him. "Please. I've been sitting around that ER for six months now. I know a typical mugging. And I also know when someone's lying."

"Alright." That weary smile was back. "I'll tell you what happened if you tell my why you're in the hospital."

I pursed my lips. He was good. "Fine. But I'll get it out of you eventually. Your brother's going to be in here a while, so I'll have enough time."

Murphy lost the smile as he thought about time. "Fuck. I don't even want to think about how long he's going to be in here."

I was going to apologize for bringing the subject up when his watch beeped. I felt suddenly panicked. "What time is it? Is it noon already?"

He glanced down at it, as if he'd forgotten he was wearing it. "Aye, I guess it is. Time flows strangely in here, doesn't it?"

"Shit," I grumbled, getting to my feet. "I'm late for group and I'm going to get in trouble. And I _still_ don't have any artwork! This is what happens when they don't let me wear a watch! I'm late to everything!"

He was surprised to see me so agitated. "They don't let you wear a watch? Those bastards!"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks for the company. I hope your brother gets better soon." And I turned and fled.

When I arrived in the therapy room back at St. Rose's, they were all sitting in our customary circle with Dr. Mendoza at the head. My chair, the one between Val and Luke, was conspicuously empty.

"Nice of you to join us, Naomi," Dr. Mendoza said with that fake smile I had come to loathe. "I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason for your tardiness."

I sidled into my seat uncomfortably. "I was eating breakfast and I lost track of time." Val caught my eye and winked. At least she wasn't going to say anything about my new friend. I should have given her more credit.

For a moment it looked like Dr. Mendoza was going to ask me more questions, but then she returned to the group conversation. I let out a sigh of relief.

Until the topic turned to our therapy. "Let's share what we've been doing this week," Dr. Mendoza suggested, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands neatly. She was absolutely gorgeous. She should have been a model, not a doctor.

I fidgeted nervously, tying and untying the star laces of my sneakers, until it was my turn. She looked at me, fully expecting my lack of anything to share. "Well, I learned how to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch in culinary arts," I tried to lie.

"Chocolate chip cookies were two weeks ago," Gina spoke up in that whiny little know-it-all voice she had. "We made appetizers this week."

Dr. Mendoza took off her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose wearily. "Naomi, did you go to _any_ therapy this week?"

My fidgeting became more pronounced. "Of course I've been to therapy. I've met with you every day this week, haven't I? And I'm here now."

She sighed again and for a moment I felt sorry for her. After all, she had to deal with my stubbornness on a daily basis. Instead of reprimanding me right then, however, she said, "I'd like you to stay after group therapy, Naomi."

There was a chorus of "ooh"s like we were still in kindergarden and I felt myself sink lower in my seat.

Though therapy usually seemed to take forever, boring me to the point of counting the ceiling tiles, it was over all too quickly today. And then the rest of the Crazies were filing out and I was left alone with Dr. Mendoza.

She settled herself in the chair beside me. "Naomi," she began. "You _really_ need to attend therapy. It's for your own good."

"It doesn't _do_ any good," I burst out, frustrated. "I've been here for six months! I'm not insane, Doc! I'm _not_."

"Nobody said you were insane," she replied diplomatically. "But the fact of the matter is that you suffer from a serious disorder."

"I had one little screw up," I groaned. "Once. I stopped taking my meds once and had one teensy little episode."

She fixed me with that doctor look. "A teensy little episode, Naomi? You tried to kill yourself."

"You make it sound like I'm a walking time bomb," I muttered. "Like you're all just waiting for me to go on a suicidal rampage."

Dr. Mendoza frowned. "We don't think that, Naomi. Everyone knows you're doing well. I just really need you to attend therapy."

"Fine." It was a lie. I wouldn't go and I'm sure she knew it.

She sat back with another little sigh. "Alright. You're free to go."

I couldn't have escaped any faster.

Val was waiting for me at the end of the hall, Mr. Bear clutched in her twig-like arms. I didn't think I wanted to talk to her just then, face her probing questions about my private little chat with Dr. Mendoza, so I turned on my heel and went the other way. I heard her startled cry but ignored it, picking up my pace and heading for the walkway leading to the main part of the hospital.

I avoided the ER for now. I was troubled enough on my own today. I bypassed the wide corridor leading there and headed instead for the center of the hospital. That's where the courtyard was. You had to go through the hospital to get to it, so we were allowed there for fresh air sometimes.

It was drizzling when I arrived, but that didn't matter. It was mid-August and scorching; the heat was so oppressive it felt like a fist hammering me into the cobblestones of the courtyard. I looked around at the doctors and visitors smoking their cigarettes or drinking their cups of coffee.

And then I saw him. Murphy. He was everywhere, it seemed. He was standing with his back to me, talking to a tall man in a dark-colored suit. Though I couldn't see Murphy's face, I had a clear view of the other man's. And I was a damn good lip reader.

I settled myself on a window ledge under the overhang of the building, out of the drizzle, and watched the man's face closely. I didn't catch every word, but enough that I got the gist of the conversation. They were talking about some sort of deal that had gone awry, and that Murphy and his brother should lay low for a while until things blew over. The conversation seemed very serious. I wondered again just how his brother had gotten shot so many times.

The man in the suit shook Murphy's hand briefly, seriously, and headed back inside the building. Murphy leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette, sighing heavily.

I sidled up without being noticed. "And just who was that?"

He jumped, then shrugged and took a long drag off the cigarette. "Just some detective. Apparently it's protocol when someone's shot."

I sat on the ledge next to him. "Yeah, but usually they just send a couple of lowly cops. Why'd your little incident merit a detective?"

"Couldn't say." He was good, I had to admit.

So I decided to change the subject. "Can I have one?" I gestured to the cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers.

He chuckled. "Are you even old enough to smoke?"

"Of course I am." I pretended to be offended. "I'm twenty. I'll be twenty-one in October. I think that's old enough. And how old are you?"

"Twenty-seven."

I let out a low whistle. "Geez, and you're not in a retirement home yet? Good for you."

He laughed again, even if it sounded weary. "Are patients even allowed to smoke? If you can't have coffee, I'm sure they don't let you have cigarettes."

"Of course I'm not allowed," I muttered. "They don't let us do _anything_ here."

He took another drag, silent for a moment, then held the half-smoked cigarette out to me. "One puff. That's all you get. I can't be aiding and abetting here."

I didn't smoke. I don't even know why I asked. But now that he was offering, I had no choice but to take it. I brought it to my lips, inhaling the sweet smell of tobacco. I took a long drag, holding it in my mouth without actually inhaling. Then I passed the cigarette back, letting the smoke seep out of my mouth slowly.

"Thanks."

He brought the cigarette back to his lips and we were silent for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts. Then he was crushing the butt beneath the heel of his boot and running his fingers through his hair.

"I guess I better get back to my brother," he said, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans.

"Has there been any change?" I questioned, falling into step beside him.

He shook his head, holding open the door for me. "Nah, he's still unconscious. The doctors say his vitals are going up, though, so that's good."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Once that happens, it won't be long before he wakes up." I was lying through my teeth now but whatever. It brought that ghost of a smile to Murphy's face. I couldn't believe I was so eager to see it.

"Good news, then. See you later, kid." He ducked into an elevator and was gone.

**Okay, there you go! Please review!**


	3. Smile Like You Mean It

**Okay guys, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! You really make my day!**

**pitbullsrok - Yes, everyone should be a mcmanus addict! If the whole world were mcmanus addicts, we could watch boondock saints instead of doing other, more productive stuff XD**

**solitare - Yay! I'm glad you like Mimi! I started out not really liking her, but the more I wrote the more I liked her lol**

**fioras - you just hold on to your hat because it'll start getting crazy pretty soon! **

**Sadly I don't own the BDS or any of the actors : (**

Chapter Three

Smile Like You Mean It

_Save some face_

_You know you've only got one_

_Change your ways_

_While you're young_

_-"Smile Like You Mean It" by the Killers_

I looked for Murphy in the cafeteria when Val and I went down for breakfast the next morning, but he wasn't there. Maybe his brother had woken up, I thought, pushing my soggy cereal around my bowl without much appetite.

Val, who hadn't eaten much either, slipped off to music therapy. She was learning to play the recorder; she claimed it calmed her nerves. I was supposed to go to therapy, too, especially after my little chat with Dr. Mendoza the day before. But I wasn't going to. I felt my time was better spent hanging out with my new friend.

I located a nurses' station in a wing where they didn't know my face, pulling my shirt sleeve over my ID bracelet. It took a moment for the nurse at the desk to look up. "Can I help you, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm trying to find my cousin and I can't remember what room he's in," I lied smoothly. "His name's Connor MacManus."

The nurse pursed her lips as she looked up the information on her computer. "He's in room 506, sugar. Take the elevators at the end of the hall to the fifth floor and go right. You can't miss it."

I thanked her and headed off in search of the room. Like the nurse had said, it was easy to find. There was no window in the door, but the closed chart in the holder outside was labeled Connor MacManus.

I knocked softly and waited, but there was no answer. Frowning, I knocked a little louder. Still no answer. I thought about going back to St. Rose or maybe down to the ER, but I was too curious. I pushed the handle down as quietly as I could.

The room was quiet except for the whirring and beeping of machines. The lights were low and the room was spotless, so different from the cluttered room I shared with Val. Murphy's brother was lying in the bed, propped up just the slightest bit, his eyes closed. He was hooked up to all the machines, an IV needle in his left arm.

Murphy wasn't there. I decided I'd just wait for him, settling into the armchair beside the bed. I examined Connor to pass the time. He was even better looking than his brother, I decided. He looked older, though not by much. He had the same stylized tattoo of the Virgin Mary on his neck, the one that Murphy had. They must have been very close.

"I'm Mimi," I found myself telling him, even though I knew he was unconscious. "I'm friends with your brother. Well, sort of friends. I only met him a few days ago. He seems like a pretty nice guy. He's going to be really upset if you up and die on him."

I paused. "That's the sort of thing that sends people to St. Rose, you know. When they're faced with a traumatic experience they can't quite handle. Happened to me. I've got dysthymia. It's a form of depression that's easily controllable with medication. I went for years without a single episode. Then something happened and I tried to off myself. Silly really." I brushed my hair out of my eyes. "But the point is, you can't do that to your brother. If you die, I'll resurrect you just so I can kill you myself."

I settled back in the chair, feeling more troubled than before I'd come. What was I doing? Talking to an unconscious man about his brother, whom I'd only known for two days. I was about to just leave when the door opened and Murphy came in, tucking something down the front of his shirt.

He stopped when he saw me. "Mimi? What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"I was looking for you," I answered, afraid I had crossed the line by coming. "I was bored and I figured you might be too. Figured we could keep each other company. But I can leave if you're busy or want to be alone or something."

"No, it's fine." He sounded exhausted. I wondered if he'd gotten any sleep at all since his brother had been admitted. "It's nice for Connor to have someone with him when I'm not."

I watched him closely as he took a seat in one of the chairs and propped his feet up on the edge of the bed. "Have you gotten any sleep at all?"

"Not much," he admitted, rubbing his eyes. "There are doctors in here at all hours. It's impossible to sleep."

"There are spare rooms," I told him. "You could probably slip in one and get some shut eye during the night."

He seemed to think about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I like to be here when the doctors come. Even if they just say the same fucking shit over and over again." He sighed again, then graced me with that weary smile I had come to look forward to. "Thanks for coming. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

I smiled back. "You're welcome."

**I know it's short. If you review for me, I'll post the next chapter REALLY quickly. **

**I updated another story today too, so I have to share a story with ya'll that I shared with them: my son tried to use the potty yesterday! It was so cute. He failed miserably, but, since we weren't planning to start potty training for another couple of months, we were absolutely thrilled. I had to share my mommy excitement with everyone XD**


	4. Ready To Fall

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying it! As promised, here's the next chapter! It's also a little short, but keep the reviews coming and I will keep updating quickly! XOXO**

Chapter Four

Ready To Fall

Perpetual motion; the image won't focus

A blur is all that's seen

But here in this moment like the eye of the storm

It all came clear to me

I found a shoulder to lean on

An infallible reason to live all by itself

-"Ready to Fall" by Rise Against

I spent a lot of time during the next week in Connor's room with Murphy. Sometimes we talked and sometimes we just sat in silence. Sometimes he even tried to sleep, though never very successfully. It took a long time to get used to sleeping a hospital, I knew.

The following Friday, during my individual therapy, Dr. Mendoza surprised me by saying, "I've seen some serious improvement in you over the last week, Naomi."

"You have?" Why hadn't I noticed? I felt the same as ever.

She nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. Even though I'm told you're still not going to therapy, I think you're improving significantly. So I think you and I are going to take a little field trip."

"A field trip?" I repeated. The chance to get away from the hospital, if even for an hour or two, was thrilling. "To where?"

"To see your sister."

I felt my heart drop all the way to my toes. "I don't want to."

"I think it'll be good for you, Naomi," Dr. Mendoza said firmly. "I think you're ready for it. We'll go tomorrow afternoon."

I headed to Connor's room as soon as Dr. Mendoza released me. There was this unnatural panic welling inside me, threatening to burst. Maybe I should have headed to the gym and done a couple laps to let out some steam.

When I reached the hospital room, I heard low voices from inside. Frowning, I knocked lightly and let myself in. Murphy was sitting on the edge of the bed, talking to his brother. Connor had finally woken up.

"And who's this lass?" Connor asked with arched eyebrows, taking in my baggy sweatpants and the ID bracelet on my arm.

Murphy gestured for me to shut the door. "This is Mimi," he introduced. "She's a patient here. She's been keeping me company while you were out."

Connor smiled at me, but then said, "_Rauben der wiege es_?" _Robbing the cradle now?_

I felt the blush creep up my cheeks. "It's not like that. Besides, I'm twenty. I'm not underage. Why does everyone think that?"

They both seemed surprised that I could speak German. Then Connor seemed a little embarrassed by his 'robbing the cradle' crack. "Sorry, lass. My bad."

"Mimi knows the ins and outs of this hospital," Murphy continued with a wink. "She's the only thing been keeping me sane this past week."

"Well, thanks," Connor said to me, giving a weak smile. He had the same weary smile as his brother.

I shuffled my feet on the tiled floor. "Welcome." There was an awkward silence, like I had interrupted something. "Well, I just stopped by to say hi. I'd better go."

"Nice to meet you," Connor called after my retreating back.

I was glad Connor had woken up, I was. But I was also disappointed. If he was awake, it wouldn't be long before he was discharged and I'd be back to spending my days watching people come in and out of the ER. Then I wouldn't get to see Murphy again.

A slow blush crept from my toes to my temple at that thought. It wasn't like I had a crush on him or anything. He was older than me, for one thing. And not my type. Not that they let any of us Crazies have relationships anyway. I was just going to miss him.

**Okay, sorry again that it's short, but I hope you enjoy! Please review!**


	5. On Top of the World

**Sorry for the hiatus, everyone! Things have been pretty hectic lately. I am now officially a college graduate! Yay! But no rest for the wicked, right? I'm getting married in June, so I still have a lot to do! I'll still try and keep this updated, though! Please review!**

Chapter Five

On Top Of the World

When the moon is gone forever

I hope you're up there somewhere

I'll see you again

Be with you my friend

-"On Top of the World" by Boys Like Girls

I was not in a good mood the following afternoon as I got dressed for my field trip with Dr. Mendoza. Maybe it was because of said field trip or maybe it was because I knew I was going to have to say goodbye to Murphy soon, but my mood was foul.

"You look pretty," Val told me, watching as I tucked my white blouse into my knee-length black pencil skirt. "Prettier than I've ever seen you."

I didn't know if that was a compliment or not, so I said nothing. I turned to my reflection in the mirror over the narrow desk, covered with Val's coloring books and magazines. I had actually taken time to straighten my hair and put on some makeup. Even with the ID bracelet, I looked pretty normal.

"Will you go anywhere other than to see your sister?" Val continued as I sat on the edge of my bed to put on my five-inch heels. They were the only pair of heels I owned. My sister had loved them once.

I shook my head. "I doubt it. In and out. I'll probably be back within the hour." I couldn't help hoping.

There was a knock on the door. "Mimi?" one of the nurses called. "Dr. Mendoza is waiting in the main lobby for you."

"See you later," I muttered to Val, heading down the hall with my clicking heels.

I found Dr. Mendoza standing near the front doors of the main hospital, her purse in hand. Her lab coat was conspicuously missing. I'd never seen her without it before.

"Ah, there you are, Naomi." She smiled warmly, tucking the purse into the crook of her elbow. "Let's go."

I followed her wordlessly out the automatic doors into the sultry August afternoon. It was sunny today; it didn't match my mood.

"Mimi!" a voice rang out from the small grouping of benches just outside the doors, and I turned to look. It was Murphy, a cigarette in hand. I felt my heart stop in my chest as he waved at me, probably wondering what the hell I was doing in this getup.

Dr. Mendoza gripped my upper arm firmly, her face suddenly fierce. "Naomi, do you know that man?" she asked sharply, her voice carrying. Murphy's face fell at the shrill sound of her voice and he dropped his arm.

I was terrified. Everybody let me wander around the hospital because they thought I didn't get into trouble, but becoming familiar with _normal_ people wouldn't go over too well with my doctor. So I shook my head.

Her grip on my arm didn't loosen as she glared over her shoulder at Murphy. "Let's go. I'm parked this way." I didn't dare look back to see what he was doing.

It was only a twenty minute drive through Boston traffic, but it was agonizing. Dr. Mendoza's good mood seemed to have evaporated after the encounter with Murphy, so she didn't speak. I certainly wasn't going to speak. So we arrived at the cemetery in silence.

I hadn't been to the cemetery in years. I hadn't even been allowed to attend Jamie's funeral. It was flourishing at the end of summer. The lawns were green, the flowers in the beds bountiful. Even the old gravestones, the ones that were a hundred years old or more, looked like they were new.

I didn't know where Jamie was buried, but Dr. Mendoza seemed to. She parked along the side of the narrow little road, next to a section labeled Walnut Greens, and got out of the car. I had no choice but to follow her.

There wasn't a path or anything to follow. Dr. Mendoza led the way through the grass, tromping over graves in an almost sacrilegious way, not caring that her heels sunk a good inch into the damp earth.

I followed with some difficulty. I hadn't worn heels in a very long time, and the way they sunk into the ground with every step was not helping. I couldn't even look at the graves we passed because I was so busy trying not to fall and flash Dr. Mendoza my standard-issue granny panties.

And then she stopped, looking down at a flat tombstone. I looked down too.

The tombstone was fairly new. It had a shiny surface and fake flowers. The inscription said _Jamie Lenore Benson: June 12 ,1974-March 15, 1999_. I looked down at it, frowning. Was I supposed to cry? Was this some sort of therapy Dr. Mendoza was putting me through?

She watched me closely as if gauging my reaction. I didn't know what I was supposed to react to. I'd known Jamie was dead. Wasn't that the whole reason I was at St. Rose? Nothing I could do or say would bring my sister back to life.

Dr. Mendoza coughed delicately. "I'm just going to visit my uncle's grave. It's not far. I'll be back in a few minutes."

As soon as she'd turned her back I knelt by the gravestone. "Oh Jamie," I sighed, running my fingers over the inscription. "I miss you. Did you know that? I wish none of this had ever happened. Of course, I'm sure everyone wishes that at some point." There was no answer. I hadn't expected one.

I didn't say anything else as I got to my feet and looked down at the headstone. I had never been religious, so I didn't believe in an afterlife. I had no idea what had happened to my sister. It was one of the reasons I had felt so empty since her death.

It didn't take long for Dr. Mendoza to return. I doubted if she even had any relatives buried in this part of the cemetery. She had this awful smile on her face. "Are you ready to go, Naomi?"

"Of course."

She tried to turn the car ride back to St. Rose into another therapy session, asking me what I'd felt and if I'd said anything to make peace with my sister.

"I'm tired. I don't feel like talking," I said every time she tried a new question. It wasn't a lie, either. I felt drained, exhausted, and numb. It felt like there was some sort of terrible emotion welling up in my chest that was slowly choking the life out of me.

It was unbearable by the time we got back to the hospital and I realized that tears were unfortunately imminent.

I separated from Dr. Mendoza as soon as we were safely within the hospital walls and made a beeline for the only place I knew would be unoccupied: the tiny, narrow chapel on the third floor near the ICU. If I was going to cry, I needed to do it alone. I didn't need anyone reporting my tears to any of my doctors in case they decided it was a breakdown and they needed to keep me longer or, worse, medicate me more.

A few of the nurses and interns that knew who I was gave me strange looks as I hurried through the halls in clothing fit for a funeral, my hooker shoes clicking on the tiled floor. The door was open when I reached the chapel and ducked through the door.

Murphy was there, kneeling in front of the alter with a wooden rosary in his hands. Of course. _Fuck_. He was possibly the last person I wanted to see as big, fat tears were welling in my eyes.

He looked up, surprised at the intrusion. He apparently hadn't been expecting anyone else to visit the chapel either. "Mimi?" He took in my pencil skirt, my Victorian blouse, and my strained face and got to his feet. "Are you okay?"

I turned to go. "Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be here..."

He caught my wrist before I could get far, dragging me back into the chapel and closing the door. He held me firmly by the shoulders and looked down into my face. I tried to look anywhere but at him, knowing the dam would burst at any second.

And when it did I could do nothing but stand there and bawl, the obnoxious wailing echoing off the wood paneling. Murphy steered me towards one of the chairs, sat me down, and handed me a tissue. Then he put a comforting arm around my shoulders.

"S-sorry," I sniffed, wiping my eyes with the tissue. It came away black with my running mascara. "And I'm sorry I didn't answer you when you called to me this morning."

"Yeah, that woman seemed pretty fucking nasty." He tucked the rosary back into his shirt. "She your mam or something?"

I grimaced. "Worse. My doctor."

"Your doctor takes you away from the hospital?" He seemed a little surprised. He still didn't know that I was a psych patient. He probably thought I had cancer or something, something terminal that kept me in the hospital for long periods of time.

I sniffled, hating myself for the tears. "This is the first time. She wanted to take me on a field trip."

"A field trip? Did she take you to church?" He gestured to the clothes. He'd only ever seen me in jeans and t-shirts and occasionally sweats.

"She took me to see my sister," I explained, twisting the tissue in my hand until it started to fall apart. "I mean, she took me to see my sister's grave. It's the first time I've been. I didn't even get to go to the funeral because I was here at the hospital."

He fell silent for a moment, handing me a new tissue. "I'm right sorry about that. I can't imagine losing a sibling." I thought of what would happen to him if Connor had died. It wasn't a pretty picture. He might very well end up in my situation. "You should pray. It'll make you feel better."

I couldn't keep the snort of derision from crawling up my throat. "I don't pray. I don't believe in god. In any god."

There was that silence again. I knew both Murphy and his brother were very religious. I was afraid I had offended him.

I was about to apologize when he spoke. "Then I'll pray for you. I've enough prayers for the both of us."

"Thanks," I mumbled. Even if I didn't think it would do any good, it was nice to know someone cared enough to waste their time on me. Someone who wasn't getting paid, that is.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, until my sniffles had subsided and the only evidence of my breakdown was my stained tissue and my red, puffy eyes.

"Want to come visit Connor for a bit?" he asked eventually, getting to his feet. "He's driving me fucking crazy." I winced at his use of the word, but a little distraction seemed just the thing I needed at the moment.

So we took the elevator up to the fifth floor and strolled to Connor's room. He was sitting up in bed, flipping lazily through channels on the television. He was on a lot of pain medication; I recognized the look in his eyes.

"Ah, Mimi." He grinned at me, tossing the remote down. "Don't you look nice? Got a special date or something?"

"If only." I couldn't help but smile. If he noticed my red eyes, he said nothing. "An invalid's got to dress up sometimes, doesn't she?"

**Yay! More Connor interaction! I have discovered that I am obsessed with Norman Reedus like a school girl with a crush. I want to watch all of his early movies, although he, like Johnny Depp, only seems to get better with age. Anyone got any good suggestions? XOXO**


	6. Hanging By a Moment

**Jeez, so I just typed out a really long author's note and then it didn't save it so now I'm back to the beginning BLEH. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for the shortness of this chapter. Things have been hectic lately because I am getting married June 11 and that is less than three weeks away! SQUEE! Anyway, I'll try to squeeze in one more update besides this one between now and the wedding, because you can bet I will not be updating fanfiction on my honeymoon XD. The more you review, the faster I will update. **

**Speaking of reviews, I'd like to thank you all for the fantabulous ones you have been submitting to me! They sincerely make my day! **

**sheridanodell - thanks for the congrats and also for your movie suggestions! I haven't had a chance to look for them yet, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that they have some of them on instant watch on Netflix XD**

**spanishlover91 - Thank you for your movie suggestions as well! I'll try to find these films and watch them as soon as I'm able!**

**ssw-rawr - I'm really glad you're enjoying the story! I'll keep updating quickly!**

**jobee529 - I'm so glad you like Mimi! She actually started out as a character I didn't really like that much but the more I wrote her the more she grew on me! I'm glad it comes off to my readers!**

**As always, I (unfortunately) do not own BDS or (even more unfortunately) any of the scrumptious actors. **

Desperate for changing

Starving for truth

I'm closer to where I started

Chasing after you

-"Hanging by a Moment" by Lifehouse

Dr. Mendoza didn't mention our field trip at any of our other therapy sessions, whether individual or group, but I noticed that she seemed to be paying me a lot more attention. I heard her asking some of the nurses where I disappeared to all day long, since I was no longer going to the ER waiting room. They didn't know. Nobody on the fifth floor paid attention to me.

Another week passed, and I put the visit to the cemetery behind me. It had been traumatic to say the least, but hanging out with Murphy and Connor easily put it out of my mind. I liked them both a lot.

Maybe it was their Irishness or their tacky sense of humor, but there was something about them I hadn't found in anyone else I'd met. There was also the mystery. There were times they'd be talking in low voices and suddenly stop as soon as I came in. They never seemed upset at the interruption, but they always cut their conversation short. And then there was the detective who had come on more than one occasion to talk to first Murphy and then the both of them. It was always the same one, but there were never any regular cops involved. I had my theories, but none of them were sound. It was my overactive imagination again, I assured myself.

I fell into a sort of pattern while the brothers were at the hospital. I'd eat breakfast with Val and, after seeing her off to this therapy or that, escape to room 506. I spent the majority of the day with the two of them, trying to make them laugh, and then I'd go back to St. Rose for my therapy sessions. It made living at the hospital almost bearable.

And then what I had been dreading happened. They'd been there for nearly three weeks when I slipped into Connor's room to find him no longer in a hospital gown but in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. All their belongings had been packed into a black duffel bag. The machines that he had been hooked up to were all lifeless now.

"What's going on?" I asked, even though it was very clear.

They both glanced up. Connor was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking very labored. Murphy picked up the duffel bag. "Connor got discharged this morning."

"What? Why?" I couldn't keep my voice down. "He's clearly not ready to be moved! Any amateur could see that!"

Connor forced a laugh. "Unfortunately we don't have much of a choice. We've got to get out of here."

I felt my lower lip start to tremble and I bit sharply to stop it. My teeth cut through the tender flesh there and I tasted blood.

"I'm glad you came by," Connor said, getting to his feet with a great amount of difficulty. "We wanted to say goodbye. You've been a real friend."

I said nothing. There was nothing to say. Even if there was, I didn't trust myself to say it.

He came to me, took my face in his hands, and pressed his lips to my forehead like a big brother. "We'll be praying for you, lass. Every day. I hope you get better soon."

"I can't get better," I found myself saying. "I have dysthymia. You don't get better from that. You just live with it. Or not."

Murphy, the bag slung over his shoulder, frowned as his brother paused in the doorway. He took my chin in his hand and tilted my face upwards so he could look directly into it. Then he pressed his lips gently against mine. They were soft and wonderful. I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

Then he released me and followed his brother. Connor cocked an eyebrow at his twin and Murphy muttered, "Fuck you," in response. Then they were gone and I was alone in what had once been Connor's hospital room.

I crawled into the bed and tried to smell him. There wasn't much there except laundry detergent and disinfectant. I was still lying there when a nurse came in to change the sheets.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. She wasn't a nurse I knew. She caught sight of the hospital ID bracelet around my wrist. "You need to get back to your room, miss. Right away."

I didn't answer, but I dragged myself out of the bed and found my way back to the psych wing, where I crawled into my bed, cuddled one of Val's stuffed animals, and watched Sleeping Beauty with her.

**Again, sorry it's so short! I think my author's notes might be as long as the story... haha sorry! Keep reviewing and I'll keep updating, as always! Love you all!**


	7. All These Things That I've Done

**You guys are freaking awesome reviews and it sincerely makes my day every time I get one! **

**ssw-rawr: Thank you for the congratulations! My fiance and I have been together for over four years and have a son together, so, in my mind at least, it's about damn time lol**

**sheridanodell: I actually LOVE the walking dead. I read the comic first (which sadly doesn't have daryl dixon in it) so I had to watch the show when it came out, and now I own it on dvd of course. I'm actually about 60 pages in on a walking dead fanfiction that will be posted as soon as I finish it. I got distracted by Soul Eater about halfway through but I definitely intend to go back and finish it XD **

**pin-chan2: Almost as soon as I posted chapter one, I got a pretty nasty pm from somebody accusing me of ripping off erisanddysnomia's story so I don't blame you at all for thinking that. As soon as I got the pm I messaged her myself and offered to take my story down, because I do not steal other people's stories and I didn't want it to come off that way. Erisanddysnomia was really nice about it though, and she insisted that I keep it up. I'm really glad it's obvious that they are completely different stories despite a similar beginning and plot devices. And I'm glad you like it!**

**h.p.c.k.m.a.: Sorry I have removed Murphy from the remainder of the story. Haha just kidding I would have no story at all if it weren't for Murphy MacManus! This might be the only chapter in the entire story that he is not in, so he'll be back with a vengeance next chapter!**

Chapter 7

All These Things That I've Done

Another head aches; another heart breaks

I am so much older than I can take

And my affection, well it comes and goes

I need direction to perfection, no no no no

-"All These Things That I've Done" by the Killers

I didn't know quite what to do with myself the next morning. I woke up early, too early, and went to breakfast with Val.

"Are you going to go hang out with those guys again today?" she asked, tearing her waffle into a dozen different pieces.

I shook my head, a lump somewhere in my throat. "No, I don't think I will. Are you going to therapy? I guess I'll go with you."

"You will?" She sounded shocked. Not that I could blame her. I'd only attended a handful of therapies in the six, nearly seven, months I'd been at St. Rose.

I shrugged, taking a sip of my orange juice. "Yeah, why not? Maybe Doc's right. Maybe therapy will do me some good."

We threw away our trash and headed for music therapy. All the therapies were located in the psych wing, each with an individual "classroom" and nurses who taught us as a group. After music therapy, where an ecstatic nurse gave me an acoustic guitar so I could belt my blues out, we moved to the gymnasium, where we just ran around the track. Then it was time for lunch and I had an individual therapy with Dr. Mendoza. Then it was on to culinary arts and art therapy.

This went on for nearly a week. I felt empty. It was like something had finally begun to fill the hole the loss of Jamie had created, but then it had been taken from me too. For once I was glad I was medicated.

Saturday afternoon, just before dinner, found me with three other Crazies in the art therapy room. It had at one time been a conference room, but the doctors and nurses had turned it into our art room. It was located on the west side of the building, so it was always filled with natural light when we had our sessions. The walls were decorated with artwork, most of which was fairly awful.

I was sitting on a paint-spattered stool in front of my easel, the tip of my paintbrush between my teeth. Because there were two nurses present, we were allowed to use the glass palettes instead of the shitty plastic ones, but never palette knives. Those were apparently too dangerous.

I had just mixed a bit of Liquin with my oil paints when a nurse appeared in the doorway. "Mimi?" she said, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Dr. Mendoza would like to see you in the therapy room."

Frowning, I glanced at the nurse who was head of art therapy. "Go ahead," she told me. "I'll clean up your station for you."

"Thanks," I mumbled, wondering what on earth Dr. Mendoza wanted to see me for. We'd already had our individual therapy that day. I walked to the row of sinks at the back of the room and tried to wash my hands. The thing about oil paints, however, is that they're pretty hard to wash off since they're water-based. The nurse was waiting, rather impatiently, so I gave up, dried my hands, and followed her.

She led the way silently to the therapy room, like I hadn't been going there once a day for nearly seven months and I didn't know the way.

I picked at the paint under my nails, shuffling my feet. "Did Dr. Mendoza say why she wanted to see me?"

The nurse gave me a short smile. "No, I'm afraid not. You'll have to wait and ask her."

Dr. Mendoza was sitting in her customary chair, but she didn't have her typical clipboard on her lap. She was also wearing her strained, "unhappy" smile. She wasn't alone, either. Another woman, wearing a pressed pantsuit, was sitting beside her. They both got to their feet when I came in. The nurse ducked her head politely and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

"You must be Naomi." The woman I didn't know smiled broadly and extended her hand to me. I shook it uncertainly. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

I frowned. "Dr. Mendoza, what's going on?"

"My name is Dr. Warner," the woman answered before Dr. Mendoza could say a word. "I'm a trained psychiatrist with the FBI. I'm here to review your case. If you'll just have a seat, I'd like to have a little chat with you."

Why was the FBI interested in me? My pulse seemed to be racing as I sat down in my usual chair, which had been moved directly in front of the two doctors, who also resumed their seats.

"Alright." Dr. Warner looked at the papers on her clipboard. "What happened to your hand? Did you injure it?"

I looked down at my hand, smeared with red and blue and orange oil paint. "Oh, no. I was just in art therapy. We're painting today."

"Do you like painting?"

"I guess. I'm good at it."

"So you have a sense of worth in yourself?"

I pursed my lips. "Of course. Did they tell you I didn't?"

"No, of course not," Dr. Warner insisted. I watched Dr. Mendoza's face grow ever darker. Things already weren't going her way. "Can you tell me when you first got diagnosed with your disorder?"

I chewed on my bottom lip. "I was eight when I was officially diagnosed," I explained. "That was when my parents got divorced. They never really paid attention to the depression before that. I got put on antidepressants almost as soon as I was diagnosed."

"Good." She scribbled something on her notepad. Dr. Mendoza's hands, sitting in her lap, began twisting the material of her skirt. "And did you have any problems with the medication?"

"No. Not until about seven or eight months ago. It seems really stupid now," I admitted. "I'd been on the medication for so long. I just wanted to see what it was like to be off it."

Dr. Warner frowned. "And that's when your sister got in that car accident?"

"It wasn't an accident," I said vehemently. "An accident means there's nobody to blame. But yes, that's when my sister died. And, since I wasn't taking my medication, I had something of a breakdown."

"And you tried to kill yourself?" she prompted.

I shrugged. "Yeah."

She held out her hand. "May I see your arms?"

I didn't want to, but I reluctantly held out my arms, wrists up. She took first one wrist in her hand and then the other, examining the scars there. "They're healing nicely," she commented. "I trust there have been no accidents since you've been admitted?"

"No, none," I assured her. She looked at Dr. Mendoza for confirmation, and Dr. Mendoza nodded with a certain amount of reluctance. I didn't know what this meeting was about or why they'd brought in an outsider, but Dr. Mendoza was clearly not happy about it.

Dr. Warner continued to drill me with questions for the better part of an hour, asking me things Dr. Mendoza had never bothered to ask. She asked if I'd made any friends while at St. Rose. I lied and told her I was friends with Val and the rest of the Crazies. I left out any mention of regular patients.

"Thank you, Naomi," she said finally, getting to her feet and shaking my hand again. "Dr. Mendoza, if I could speak with you out in the hall...?"

The two retreated to the hall and closed the door most of the way, but their voices carried in to me. I turned around in my chair to hear them better.

"I don't understand why this young woman hasn't been discharged yet," Dr. Warner was saying sternly. "With the proper medication, she seems perfectly rational and able to function in society."

Dr. Mendoza's voice was tightly controlled. "With all due respect, Doctor, you aren't intimately connected with her case. She's my patient, and I don't think she's ready to be discharged. She still has a long way to go."

"If you keep her here too long, she _won't_ be able to assimilate into society," Dr. Warner answered firmly. "From what I can see, both from interviewing her and from extensively reviewing her charts, this program is not doing her any good. I'm recommending her immediate release."

There was a pause, and when Dr. Mendoza spoke, her voice was an angry hiss. "How dare you?" she growled. "She is _my_ patient!"

"Be that as it may," Dr. Warner replied coolly. "I'm still recommending that she be discharged. Have a good evening, _Doctor_." There were clicks as she walked away.

I sat frozen in my chair, twisted toward the door. Was I really going to be released? After seven long months of useless therapy? It seemed too good to be true. I refused to believe it yet. Dr. Mendoza was wily; if she didn't want me to leave, she'd probably find a way to keep me there for another eight years.

After a moment she came back into the room, hands on her hips. She was still fuming. "You may leave, Naomi," she snapped.

I fled the therapy room, my head spinning. I wasn't hungry, but I knew the cafeteria was closing soon and I needed to eat something before it did. I found my way there on autopilot.

Val was sitting at our table in the corner with Bex. While Val was picking at her food, like usual, Bex was eating everything in sight. I got my food and joined them.

"What happened with Dr. Mendoza, Mimi?" Val demanded, scooting her tray over to make room for mine. "I've never seen her pull someone out of an independent therapy before."

I opened my orange juice. "I had to meet with her and some psychiatrist from the FBI. They asked me all sorts of questions."

"The FBI?" Bex repeated, stealing a forkful of green beans off Val's plate. "Why the hell is the FBI interested in you?"

"I have no idea." I still felt sort of shocked about the whole thing. "But I heard them talking after the meeting. The FBI psychiatrist wants me to be discharged. She doesn't think I need to be here anymore."

Val's fork clattered against the table as she dropped it. "_What_?"

"I know. It's crazy." I took a bite of mashed potatoes. They tasted like sawdust but I ate them anyway. Suddenly I was ravenous. "I don't even know what I'd do if I was released."

"They can't release you." Bex sounded confident. "Only Dr. Mendoza can do that." I hoped she was wrong.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Sadly this will have to be my last update until after my wedding, which is on Saturday. But I hope to have lots of wonderful reviews from my even more wonderful reviewers when I get back from my honeymoon! I love you all!**


	8. Peachy

**I'm so sorry for the extended absence, but I am now a married woman! Haha it's so weird to say that... Anyway, I promise no more long pauses between posties! And thank you all for the well-wishes and congratulations! You all are awesome!**

**ssw-rawr: no more waiting! here you go!**

**kelso18: thank you so much for your wonderful review! It seriously made my day!**

**belladonna: XD she kissed Murphy. She was just missing Connor like a big-brother type thing (plus she didn't have anything of Murphy's to smell...). And yes, Smecker sent the doctor XD**

**jjbroadway: MAAAYYYBBBEEE Mimi's free! Read and find out!**

**valerie mackin: I'm glad you like Mimi! I try not to make my characters mary sue-ish but sometimes it's super hard not to make a stereotypical character haha**

**gurl3677: continuing it is! **

Chapter 8

Peachy

Hey, don't ever bring me back

To where I used to be

Cause now I feel so fine and I feel so peachy

-"Peachy" by Family Force Five

I hardly slept that night, wondering if I was going to be released or not. But in the morning, there was no longer a question. The nurse who brought us our medication told me, after I'd tossed the pills back, that Dr. Mendoza wanted to see me in her office. I'd never been to her office before.

I dressed quickly, sharing a look with Val, and hurried to Dr. Mendoza's office. It was a spacious room overcrowded with filing cabinets and motivational posters. I hated it immediately. She was sitting behind her desk, looking weary. The "unhappy" smile was still in place.

"Have a seat, Naomi," she said. "After careful consideration, the staff here at St. Rose have decided you have learned everything you can from us. All you have to do is fill out these discharge papers." She slid a clipboard over to me. "Do you want me to call anyone to come pick you up?"

"No." There was no one to call.

"Very well then. Take your time with the forms." She turned to her computer, giving me a semblance of privacy.

I looked down at the forms, surprised to find my hands shaking. I was reminded of that night in the ER when I had first met Murphy. His hands had been shaking then too. I wished he was there. He'd fill out my forms for me.

It took me nearly half an hour to get them done, and my handwriting was nothing more than chicken scratch. I handed the clipboard back to Dr. Mendoza, my heart pounding.

"Very good," she said through thin lips. "I'll get this processed right away. Why don't you pack up your things and a nurse will come get you once your paperwork has gone through the system."

"What did she say?" Val demanded as soon as I returned to our room. Bex, Gina, and Allison were with her, crowded onto her bed. Word traveled fast among the Crazies.

I hardly trusted myself to speak. "I'm getting discharged," I finally managed. "Dr. Mendoza is doing all the paperwork now."

There was an instant explosion of chatter; Val started to wail. It took me forever to calm them down. Eventually I managed to shoo the other girls away to their therapies, but Val insisted on staying with me. I was actually going to miss her, I realized.

There wasn't much for me to pack, as almost everything in our room was Val's. I had a small suitcase for my clothes and a duffel bag for my books and cosmetics. I was done before long, and then there was nothing to do but wait.

It was around lunchtime when a nurse brought my discharge papers, along with a plastic bag with the items that had been confiscated from me upon my admission, and told me I was good to go. It was so surreal.

Val had a panic attack as I was trying to leave, but I couldn't take care of her this time. The nurses converged on her, hiding her from view as I slipped across the walkway to the main part of the hospital. They had clipped off my ID bracelet. I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

I walked out the front doors into the bright sunshine, a free woman. And then I realized that, as excited as I was to get out of St. Rose, I had nowhere to go. My mom had left years ago, my dad lived in Minnesota and drank like a fish, and it had been just Jamie and me for the longest time. Our apartment had been in her name, and, after her death, our lease had been broken. Our furniture and belongings had probably been sold or given away.

I sat down on the benches outside the main entrance to think. I had credit cards and a bank account, though it had been frozen when I'd been admitted to St. Rose. All I'd have to do to unfreeze my account was go to the bank and talk with them, but the problem was getting to the bank in the first place. I didn't have any money to take the bus or a taxi, and there wasn't a bank close enough to walk to.

I was still thinking about this problem when the honking of a horn made me look up. There, parked right in front of me, was a beat up old Dodge Avenger, several years old. Connor was waving at me like an idiot from the front passenger seat.

Unable to suppress a smile, I walked up to the window as he rolled it down. "What the hell are you doing here?" Murphy was behind the wheel, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"We heard you were getting discharged today," Connor said with a sly wink. "We thought you might need a ride."

I thought back to the detective they had seemed to be such good friends with. "Did you guys have something to do with this?"

Murphy grinned from around his cigarette. "Maybe."

"You shouldn't have done that." I really wasn't smiling now. "What if I'm not well enough to be back around normal people?"

"Hold up there." Murphy tipped his ashes out the window. "All we did was ask them to take a look at your case. If they said you were ready, then they really believed you were ready. We had nothing to do with that."

I didn't speak for a moment. That elation I had felt after the meeting with Dr. Warner returned. "So I'm really discharged."

"Right. Hop in." Connor's grin was infectious.

I grabbed my bags and climbed into the backseat. Murphy put the Avenger in drive and pulled away from the curb. "So, direct us to your house. We'll be your chauffeurs for the day."

I looked down at the toes of my sneakers, peeking out from the bottoms of my jeans. "Just the closest cheap hotel."

They exchanged a look, and I felt myself blushing with shame and humiliation. "Don't you have anywhere you can go?"

"No," I answered shortly. "But I'll be fine. I just need to get to a hotel."

Murphy lowered his voice. This time he spoke in French. "_What should we do_? _We can't just drop her off at some shitty hotel in the bad part of town_." I didn't tell them I understood French. They'd seemed surprised enough about the German.

Connor shrugged. "_Let's bring her back to our place. She can have Da's room since you never ended up moving in there_."

"_Do you think that's safe_?" Murphy's expression was serious. "_I mean, we don't want to get her involved in anything_."

"_Like you said, we can't just dump her off somewhere. She's a sweet kid_." Connor muttered. "_I say we invite her and if she says yes, we'll let her come. We'll just have to keep the shit well-hidden._"

Murphy turned to face me, sitting in the backseat with my bags beside me. "We know this is a little unorthodox, but we've got a spare room at our place. Your welcome to it if you'd like."

I knew I shouldn't accept. I'd only known these guys for a few weeks now, and I didn't really know anything about them. Plus they were obviously mixed up in some serious shit that I knew I didn't need to get involved in. So instead of answering I asked, "Why are you guys being so nice to me?"

Connor smiled back, a genuine smile. "You took care of us when we were in really bad fucking shape. It's only right that we do the same for you. Plus we like you."

I couldn't help laughing. "Okay. Fine. I'll come stay with you, but only until I get back on my feet. Then I'll repay you. I swear."

"Fair enough." Murphy tossed the cigarette out the window and steered the Avenger towards the interstate.

I rolled down the window a crack, loving the feel of the late summer breeze against my face. I felt fresh and new. I couldn't keep the smile from my face. "So," I directed my question to the two in the front seats. "What have you fine gentlemen been up to since you got discharged?"

"Just rehabilitating at home," Connor explained, wincing. "I've got more fucking pain meds than I could ever use but I don't seem to get any better."

"I could probably help," I offered. "I mean, I'm not a doctor or anything. I barely finished my sophomore year at Northeastern, but I did spend six months following doctors, interns, and nurses around. I know a little something."

He winked at me. "Couldn't hurt now, could it?"

They lived in South Boston, in a completely Irish neighborhood. It didn't take us long to get there with Murphy's driving. He pulled up in front of an old tenement building with a crumbling brick exterior and put the car in park.

"_What about the guns and shit_?" Connor asked, still in French. "_We left them all over the place. We can't let her see them_."

Murphy glanced over his shoulder at me. "_I'll help you upstairs and you can hide them real fast. I'll take her somewhere for half an hour or so_."

"_And just what are you planning on doing_?" Connor asked archly. "_Don't forget, I saw that little kiss in the hospital_."

His twin grimaced. "_I was just thanking her. You should try it sometime. I'll just take her to the fucking market or some shit_." He turned to address me. "We've got no food at all in the house," he apologized. "I'll just help Connor upstairs and you and I can go get some."

"Okay." If I hadn't understood what they'd said, I might've offered to help. Even though Connor had been discharged for a week, he was clearly still in bad shape. I wondered how they'd managed to get him released so early and with no press. Probably had something to do with the guns they needed to hide from me.

I watched them disappear into the tenement building, Connor leaning heavily on his brother for support. I could sense the pain with every step he took. Then they were out of sight and I was left alone with my thoughts again.

I should have grabbed my stuff and bolted. If they had guns just lying around their apartment, they probably weren't good news. But I liked them. They were the closest I'd come to filling that hole that Jamie's death had left and, if I ended up killed in the long run, what did it matter? I should have died seven months ago when I took that razor to my wrists.

It didn't take long for Murphy to return, letting the door of the building slam shut behind him. He got behind the wheel and gave me a strange look. "You're really just going to ride around in the back seat? The front's just fine, you know."

"Fine then." I scrambled over the console and settled myself in the front seat. "Is that better?"

"Much," he agreed, lighting another cigarette. He offered me one. "Now that you're no longer forbidden, do you want a smoke?"

I shook my head. "No thanks. I quit."

"Good thing." He took a long drag, looking quite content.

I wanted to ask him about the kiss, the one he'd given me at the hospital. I wanted to ask why he'd done it, if it was really just a thank you. It hadn't felt like a thank you. I wasn't anything special; I wasn't the type of girl who got kisses from delicious Irish bastards. I was the type of girl who got locked up for seven months for trying to kill herself. I couldn't ask.

He saw that I was troubled. "What's wrong, Mimi?" I just shook my head. I couldn't tell him.

"My real name is Naomi," I said instead. "Naomi Benson. Mimi is just short. Naomi doesn't suit me."

He thought for a moment, staring at me intently instead of staring at the road. "Aye, you're right. It doesn't suit you at all."

The market, like everything else in the neighborhood, seemed to be owned and operated solely by Irish men and women. It was a small, dingy little store, but it was well-stocked and Murphy seemed to be on a first-name basis with the man behind the register.

"Get whatever you'd like," he told me, looking around the aisles. "Connor and I aren't picky. We eat whatever."

Now was the time I wished I had paid attention during culinary arts therapy. Microwaving things was the extent of my cooking skill. I decided I'd pick up a cook book and just try random recipes, but for now I picked up what I assumed was the essentials: milk, butter, bread, toothpaste, all-purpose cleaner. Jamie had done all the cooking before she'd died.

Because I wasn't really looking at what I was picking up, I just started tossing things into the shopping cart. Murphy followed cheerfully, having to stop to talk every time we passed someone. They all spoke in that distinct accent.

I made sure we'd been there half an hour before I told him I was done. He paid for everything in cash, even though it was upwards of seventy dollars. I'd never paid for groceries in cash before. I wondered if the massive amount of cash had something to do with the apparently illegal activities he and his brother were involved in.

"You sure seem to know everybody," I commented as we loaded groceries into the trunk of the Avenger.

He shrugged, sliding behind the wheel and reaching for yet another cigarette. "It's a tight-knit community," he explained. "We all tend to stick close together."

When we arrived back at the apartment, he pulled into a narrow parking lot just down the block. We grabbed my two bags and the groceries and headed up the cement steps into the lobby of the tenement.

The place was dingy and dirty; South Boston had some of the oldest public housing in the country. At least it had an elevator, even if it creaked and groaned dangerously. We got in and Murphy pushed the button for the fourth floor.

"It's a bit of a mess," he apologized. "We weren't really expecting company."

"I'm sure I've seen worse," I assured him, shifting the weight of the grocery bags in my arms as he fumbled with the key in the lock.

When the door swung open, however, it was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Maybe it was because I'd spent the better part of the year living in a hospital, where things were cleaned and disinfected almost religiously, but this was a complete and utter disaster.

The door opened onto a combination kitchen/living room. There were hardwood floors and unfinished walls with plaster peeling off in chunks. There was a tiny round table in the kitchen with three mismatched chairs. In the living room there was a sagging sofa and an ancient television set that probably didn't even get color. There was a layer of dust on everything, even the kitchen counter. I counted no less than six overflowing ashtrays sitting about on various surfaces, and empty beer cans and trash littered the floor. A narrow hallway led to the back of the apartment, probably to the bathroom and bedrooms.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, feeling defeated before I even stepped into the room.

"Now, now," Connor called from the sofa, where he was smoking a cigarette and watching TV. "Best not be using the Lord's name in vain, lass."

I stepped over the threshold into the apartment. It stank of cigarettes and alcohol. I didn't want to even set the groceries down.

"Here, I'll take those." Murphy took the bags from me and set them on the counter. "You can put your stuff in the room at the end of the hall."

I relinquished the bags reluctantly. "Don't put anything away," I grumbled. "I'll do it so I know where everything is."

He grinned. "Whatever you say."

I made my way down the bare hallway to the room at the end, pushing open the door. The bedroom wasn't bad, I had to admit. It was a little dusty, but at least it didn't smell like cigarettes and there was no trash or ashtrays. The bed was nothing more than a box spring and twin mattress on the floor, no bed frame. There were no sheets, either, just pillows without pillowcases. There was a mostly-empty closet across from the single window overlooking the service alley below. Other than that, the room was bare.

I dropped my two bags on the mattress and ran my fingers through my hair. What had I gotten myself into? I sat for a moment on the end of the bed to gather my thoughts before I went back out.

Connor was still sitting on the sofa, the cigarette dangling negligently from one hand. Murphy was taking the things we'd bought out of the bags but, thankfully, not trying to put them away.

Their telephone rang as I went over and began opening cabinets. There was a pack of ramen noodles and that was it. I didn't have much luck with the refrigerator, either: a twelve pack of beer and a bunch of condiments. I felt like I was back in college again.

Murphy went to answer the phone. "Aye?" he said, putting the receiver to his ear. There was a long pause, during which I started putting the groceries away logically. "Fuck. Aye, we'll be right there."

I looked up, curious, as he hung up the phone. He glanced at me briefly before addressing his brother. "We've got to meet an old friend," he said shortly. "It's urgent."

Connor winced as he tried to get to his feet, and I had to put my foot down. "Connor can't go anywhere right now," I said firmly, brandishing a gallon of 2%. "He's been pushing himself too much since he got released from the hospital. You'll have to take care of this one on your own."

Murphy looked like he was going to protest, then thought better of it. "Fine. I'll back in a few hours. Try not to get into too much fucking trouble."

"We'll be just fine," I answered sweetly, putting the milk away in the refrigerator. Even the inside of the fridge was disgusting.

Murphy rolled his eyes and left, shutting the door behind him. I whirled on Connor, who had settled back onto the couch. "You," I began.

"Me?" he repeated uncertainly.

"First of all, put that out." I pointed to his cigarette. "I know that both you and your brother are chain smokers, but when you've got a gunshot wound in the lung, smoking is really not the best thing for you. It's stupid, really."

He laughed and put the cigarette out. I was surprised. I'd been expecting more of a fight. Grown men didn't usually listen to a little twenty-year-old psych case.

"Okay," I continued, hands on my hips. "When did you last take any medication?"

He thought for a minute. "Last night, I guess."

"Then you're going to take some now. Have you eaten anything today?" He shook his head, and I got him a glass of water and a piece of bread. Once he'd obediently eaten the bread, I gave him the pills. "Now, you're going to go to bed and get some sleep."

This time he did try to protest. "I'm not tired," he tried.

"You will be as soon as that medicine kicks in," I assured him. "And your body needs rest. You're never going to get better if you just keep pushing yourself."

He grimaced. "You know, maybe inviting you here to play nurse wasn't such a good idea." But he got up and made his way to the first bedroom.

"Goodnight!" I called after him.

Once I saw the door shut behind him, I finished putting away the groceries. Then I dug out the cleaning supplies I'd bought and thought about where I'd like to start first. The kitchen was obviously a big deal, but I needed a clean bathroom too. Bathroom it was.

It was across the hall from the room the twins apparently shared. It wasn't much bigger than the one I'd shared with Val at St. Rose, but at least it had a tub. Everything was coated in a thin sheen of mildew. The shower curtain reeked and the toilet was so dirty I doubted it had been cleaned since they'd lived there. The counter was, somehow, littered with cigarette ashes. I sighed and got to work.

I'd done the cleaning back before Jamie's accident. It was sort of a fair trade: she cooked and I cleaned and did laundry. It worked out pretty well; I was enough of a loner that I didn't mind spending hours on my knees scrubbing at mildew if it meant I didn't have to talk to anyone.

This was different. This was _awful_. I had ruined one of my new sponges by the time I'd finished with the tub, but at least it was clean and I would be able to take a shower. The toilet was next on my list. It was easy enough to scrub the outside of the bowl with the sponge, but I couldn't find a toilet brush anywhere. Eventually I just used the sponge, fighting back nausea the entire time. The sink and mirror were easy once I'd wiped up all the ashes. There was even a little medicine cabinet behind the sink, although it was as sparse as the kitchen cabinets had been. A mostly-used roll of toothpaste and a dull razor, and that was it. I shut the cabinet quickly.

I'd already been in the bathroom for over an hour and a half, and the fumes were starting to get to me, so I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor for only about fifteen minutes. Even so, I managed to get up most of the grime. Taking the dirty shower curtain with me, I surveyed the room, pleased. It looked like an entirely different bathroom.

I'd bought a box of garbage bags at the grocery earlier, so I dug one out and shoved the shower curtain into it. Then I went around the living room, emptying ash trays and picking up the crumpled fast food wrappers and empty beer cans.

Murphy came in while I was tying the top of my second bag. He looked surprised for a moment at the two garbage bags and the now fairly tidy, if still dirty, living room. "What the fuck are you up to?"

"Cleaning." I wiped sweat from my forehead. "I don't know how you lived here like this. It's a good thing I came along when I did. This place should have been condemned."

He smiled, though it was that weary smile he got after he'd dealt with the detective at the hospital. "Where's Connor?"

"Sleeping." I pulled out a fresh sponge and sprayed down the counters. It was getting towards dinnertime now, and if anybody was going to cook anything, the counters had to be cleaned.

Murphy seemed surprised, locking the front door behind him. "He's sleeping? In the afternoon?"

I put my back into my scrubbing. "He took some medicine. It makes him sleepy."

He looked at me for a moment, thinking, then headed into the room they shared. I could hear him waking his brother and them conversing in low, mumbling tones. I tried to block it out. I probably didn't want to know anyway.

When I deemed the counters at least sanitary, I opened the cabinets. I doubted that either of the MacManus brothers could cook, so it was up to me to provide something edible. That would be a challenge.

I squinted at the boxes of things on the shelves. I'd grabbed a bunch of boxes of ready-to-cook meals, thankfully. There was a box of spaghetti noodles and a jar of marinara sauce. I'd even managed to grab some ground beef. That seemed like a meal I could handle. I'd watched Jamie make spaghetti a hundred times before.

The noodles were boiling in a pot, the marinara was simmering in a saucepan, and the ground beef was sizzling in a frying pan when Connor and Murphy came out of their bedroom. They looked amazed to find food cooking.

"And what the fuck's all this?" Connor asked in awe. "You're actually cooking for us?"

I stirred the sauce. "I couldn't let us all starve, and I didn't think either of you were willing to cook."

Connor's grin widened. "I take it back, what I said about you being nurse. This might've been the best idea we've ever had." I smiled too.

I made Murphy wipe off the kitchen table with a disinfectant before I'd let us eat. There were only a handful of dishes, all mismatched. The cutlery didn't match either, and, of course, there were no napkins so I had to grab paper towels instead. Eventually, though, the three of us settled around the table for our first official meal together.

Connor had a beer and I found that I was too tired to tell him not to. I'd play nurse again in the morning.

Even though the meal was alarmingly simple, it was also delicious. Or maybe that was because I hadn't eaten anything all day. Between the three of us, all the food disappeared. There were no leftovers.

"That was fucking delicious," Murphy sighed contentedly, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on his stomach. "We usually just eat take out or fast food."

"I noticed," I said dryly, gesturing to the two bags of garbage by the door. "I'll need you to take that out. I mean, please." I remembered at the last minute that I was a guest in their house. I couldn't start acting like I owned the place.

He didn't seem to mind. I guess he figured it was a fair enough trade since I'd been cooking and cleaning like a regular little housewife. "Aye, I'll do it."

Murphy helped Connor over to the couch, where he turned on the television set, while I started cleaning up the dishes. Even though there was a washing machine and dryer at the end of the hall, there was no dishwasher and I had to do everything by hand. Murphy took the trash out and Connor flipped the television to the news. I listened half-heartedly as I scrubbed marinara sauce off the three plates.

"Though Boston has been under the reign of the Saints for months now," the fresh-faced news anchorwoman was saying. "Tonight we report a whole new string of murders. Three bodies were found in a shoe store in South Boston this morning, mutilated and tortured. As of this report, no names have been released. The police have yet to confirm or deny whether these murders are the work of the Saints, but the general view of the public seems to be one of outrage at the very thought that the Saints are responsible. We go-"

Connor grunted and switched the station. I realized suddenly that I had frozen, listening to the report. I quickly started scrubbing again.

Murphy returned a moment later, and Connor gave him a serious look. He clearly wanted to say something about the news report but also didn't want to say it in front of me.

I put the dishes in the drying rack and stretched dramatically. "Well, I think I'll go take a shower." That would give them a chance to talk. And, after cleaning the bathroom, I really did need a shower. St. Rose and its bugged bathrooms already seemed so far away.

I made a mental note about what I wanted to do to my new room as I dug through my suitcase of clothes. There were a few patches of drywall that needed to be fixed, and I'd definitely like to paint. The bare blandness of the walls reminded me too much of the halls of St. Rose and not enough of the poster-plastered room I'd shared with Val. Then I reminded myself not to get too comfy. This was only temporary, I told myself. No need to get too attached.

I gathered up my belongings and carried an armful into the bathroom. Connor and Murphy had been talking in low voices while I was in the bedroom but stopped as they heard me cross the hall. I could only imagine they were waiting for the bathroom door to close to start talking again.

The bathroom still smelled like the cleaning solvent I had used to scrub it down, so I didn't have to worry about mildew or mold. I pointed the shower head towards the wall (since the shower no longer had a curtain) and turned the nozzle towards hot. There would be no voices tonight to tell me to turn the temperature down.

I rifled around in the narrow linen closet for a towel. There weren't many there, but I helped myself to a worn red one. Then I stripped off my clothes, smelling St. Rose on them, and dropped them in the floor.

It felt wonderful to step under the spray, even if I did have to stand too close to the wall to keep the water from spraying out over the bathroom. I took my time, scrubbing myself down with my loufa and washing my hair. I didn't know how long the hot water would last, but I felt I deserved a nice long shower.

Eventually I turned the taps off and dried off with the big red towel. It was unfortunate that it, too, smelled like cigarette smoke. Then I reached for the panties I had brought with me to change into. Unlike the hospital ones I had been wearing, these were bikini cut with little pink flowers, trimmed in pink lace. They were as unlike the hospital-issued panties as could be.

As I stared at them, looking so foreign in my hands, I began to half-cry half-laugh hysterically. And I couldn't stop. Tears were streaming down my face as I struggled to pull them on, first one leg and then the other.

There was a hard knock on the door as I pulled on my bra (I wasn't comfortable enough to go braless around my new friends) and gray long-sleeved t-shirt. "Mimi?" came Murphy's firm voice. "Are you alright?"

I still couldn't stop laughing and crying. "There are no voices in this bathroom," I gasped hysterically, struggling into my sweatpants. "And I get to wear my own underwear!"

There was a long pause, during which I imagined the two brothers looking at each other with identical looks of incredulity. Their lack of jokes told me they were re-thinking their choice to bust me out of St. Rose.

I pulled open the door, towel-drying my long hair. "Don't worry about it; I'm not crazy," I assured them, wiping tears from my eyes. "It's just, at St. Rose, you have to wear hospital underwear. You can't wear your own. This is the first time I've worn my own underwear in seven months. And they monitor you while you're in the bathroom to make sure you're not throwing up or taking unprescribed pills or something. It's just nice to be normal again."

"Aye, I'll bet," Connor agreed, but he still had this look in his eyes that I couldn't quite place.

I left the majority of my things in the bathroom. My half-used containers of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were fine sitting on the edge of the tub. I took my dirty clothes and my damp towel back to my new bedroom with me.

The television was still blaring in the living room as I shut the door behind me and started a dirty clothes pile in the closet. There were still some hangars in there, so I hung up all the clothes I'd brought. I didn't have many. The closet was only half-full when I was done. Then I unpacked my books and set them on the floor beside the bed; they could function as a nightstand, I figured. The last thing to be put away was the picture of Jamie, which I set right on top of my new bedside table.

I still had no watch, so I had no idea what time it was, only that I was exhausted. That morning seemed a lifetime away. I combed through my wet hair and meandered into the living room. Both boys were sitting on the sofa with their feet propped up on the scuffed coffee table. They had changed the station to some sitcom that wasn't really funny.

"Well, I guess I'm going to bed now," I told them uncertainly. Was there a goodnight ritual that was to be followed? Jamie and I had always had one, but we'd always been awfully close.

They cleared the matter right up for me. "Night," they said in unison, barely looking away from the television. So that's how it was going to be.

I had found sheets in the closet while I was putting clothes away, so I made the bed up with these. They felt a little damp, like they'd been sitting in the closet for too long, but they were better than nothing. I turned off the overhead light and crawled under my grandmother's blanket, burrowing all the way up to my ears. It wasn't long before I was asleep.

**Hehe I hope this was worth the wait! Now Mimi is officially involved with the Saints! How yummy!**

**So I'd like to ask opinions! My husband and I want to have more children, but we can't decide when! Our son Dean is a year and a half old now, and we don't want too much of an age gap between our kids. But we also JUST got married. What do ya'll think? Should we start trying for more kids now or should we wait? Thanks! **


	9. Thunder

**You guys are pretty much like the best reviewers ever! I can't express how grateful I am to all of you! Plus you all have super good advice! My husband and I have decided to wait until Dean is two before we try to have any more kids! XD**

**Thank you very much to Valerie Mackin, Lavandar26, jjbroadway, sheridanodell, The-Major's-Sargent, Rickii101, and my anonymous reviewer! Please keep reviewing! **

Chapter 9

Thunder

I tried to read between the lines

I tried to look in your eyes

I want a simple explanation

For what I'm feeling inside

-"Thunder" by Boys Like Girls

I woke up late the following morning; I must have been more tired than I'd thought. I headed out to the kitchen without thinking, looking for something to eat. My stomach was grumbling.

Connor was sitting on the couch, watching television again. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he'd sat there all night. He glanced up when I came shuffling in. "Morning, lass."

I crossed my arms over my chest, remembering that I had forgotten to put on a bra. "Morning. Where's Murphy?"

"Said he had some business to tend to," Connor answered, but I knew he was only half-telling me the truth. They had this weird way about them, but I could tell when they were lying. They were both awful at it.

I opened the refrigerator and pulled out the carton of eggs. I could at least make a decent fried egg, I assured myself. "Have you eaten yet? Or taken any of your medicine?"

"No and no." He hardly looked up from the television.

I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. "Is that all you do all day? Watch television and not take your medicine?"

"Aye, pretty much." He was grinning, so I wasn't sure if he was pulling my leg or not.

I gave a frustrated sigh and turned my back on him. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Oh, you're making eggs, are you? I'll take them however you do."

"Over easy it is, then." I busied my hands but my mind was preoccupied. I wondered what Murphy was doing. Come to think of it, I'd never really asked what they did for a living. It was a Monday, so maybe Murphy was at an honest job? "What do the two of you do for a living?" I asked, focusing intently on my eggs.

I could practically feel Connor tense up even though my back was turned. "We work at a meat packing plant," he said. It sounded pretty lame, but it also sounded like the truth.

"Did you get time off for getting shot?" I pressed, scooping the first egg out of the frying pan. "And workers comp and stuff like that?"

"Aye, I did. It's an Irish plant, so they're pretty understanding," he explained. "I've got to go back in a few weeks though. Can't just keep lying around like this."

"Then you've got to start working out," I told him matter-of-factly, scooping the second egg onto a plate and putting it on the table. "Sort of like physical therapy. Otherwise your muscles and ligaments will go all tight and you'll never feel the same. Come eat."

He turned the television off and came over to the kitchen, getting a beer out of the refrigerator. I snatched it out of his hand before he had a chance to take a single step with it.

"No way," I said, brandishing the spatula at him. "Beer for breakfast is a definite no-no. In fact, beer _anytime_ is not a good idea for you right now. Why don't you try orange juice instead? I got some yesterday."

He fixed me with a level look. "Fucking orange juice? Are you fucking serious?"

"It's either that or water. Take your pick." I turned back to the stove and cracked two more eggs for my own breakfast. He sighed but poured himself a glass of OJ and sat down to his eggs. "So the two of you work at the same place? Isn't that a little odd?"

"I suppose," he shrugged. "We do a lot of things together. We were even fucking born together." He allowed himself a laugh.

"Wait." I settled down with a glass of water and my own eggs. "The two of you are twins?"

He grinned. "Aye. Nobody knows who's older but our Ma. And she won't tell us. Thinks it's some big fucking joke or something."

"Interesting," I mused, taking a bite of egg. It was delicious, not at all like the cardboard pancakes they served in the hospital cafeteria. "For some reason I thought you were older."

"I get that a lot," he agreed. "I feel older most of the time." He finished his eggs and sat back in his chair. "So what are you going to do today, Mimi?"

I chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Keep cleaning, I guess. I only really got through the bathroom yesterday."

"You're going to keep up this housekeeping thing then, eh?"

"You bet I am. It's nice of you two to invite me to stay here, but I can't live in that kind of filth. And," I added, giving him a stern look. "I intend to keep playing nurse. Which means you've got to take your medicine now."

He made a disgusted face. "It always makes me so tired."

"Because your body needs lots of rest." I carried both our plates over to the sink and let warm water run over them while I got his orange prescription bottles and took out the correct amount of pills. I stood over him, arms crossed, until he took them. "Good. Now you can watch TV or whatever the hell you do. But you better believe that we're doing some serious working out after lunch."

He groaned but dragged himself back over to the sofa. He turned the television back on, but had fallen asleep before I'd gotten the dishes cleaned. That medicine was pretty powerful.

After I had put the dishes away in the cabinet, I retreated to my room to get dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. And definitely a bra. I'd have to remember not to go braless anymore. Even if it didn't make them uncomfortable, it certainly made me so.

I started in on the kitchen first, humming to myself. I'd managed to clean the counters the night before, but the rest of the kitchen was in dire need of a good scrub-down. I cleaned out the cabinets and the refrigerator, the stove and the sink. Then I moved to the living room, dusting and wiping things down with furniture polish. I was sweeping the floors when Connor woke up again.

Since I'd done so much cleaning, I made the two of us sandwiches and settled onto the sofa to watch TV with him, laughing at his running commentary. After we'd eaten and I'd cleaned our dishes, I made him work out with me. I didn't like working out, but I knew he needed it. He complained and bitched the entire time, but at least he did the work. I knew he'd thank me. One day.

My first week living with the Macmanus brothers set us into something of a pattern. Murphy would be gone for strange hours during the day, always claiming to be at work even if I didn't really believe him. After I'd gotten the apartment to sparkle, Connor started giving me money, an allowance of sorts. He said I could spend it whatever way I wanted.

First I bought some plaster from the home improvement store a couple bus stops away. I wasn't great with plaster, but Jamie had worked as a receptionist for a construction company and one picks up tips. I fixed the crumbling plaster in both my bedroom and the living room. Connor watched me do this with a smile, though he never said anything.

Eventually Connor started leaving with Murphy. They were often gone all day and sometimes all night, though they'd always say they were just gone to work. The first day I was home by myself I bought some paint, a dark beige. I covered the sagging sofa and the television set and the scuffed coffee table with a sheet and set about painting. I finished the entire living room in one day and, even though my arms ached and I had ruined my favorite t-shirt, I was proud. I was determined to stay up until they got home to see what they'd say. I hadn't technically asked permission to paint their apartment.

I must have fallen asleep on the sofa, because I half woke up when they came through the door. It was probably two o'clock or later. I wasn't used to staying up so late. They brought a strange smell with them when they came in, like rusty iron almost. I didn't like it.

"What the fuck is all this?" Murphy wondered aloud, inhaling the smell of fresh paint and looking around at the walls. "Did she paint the entire fucking room while we were gone?"

"Aye, looks like it." It sounded like Connor was grinning. "Looks damn good, too. Fuck, she's going to be sore tomorrow."

"And she just fell asleep here," Murphy muttered. It might have just been my imagination, but I thought I detected a touch of fondness in his voice. I hoped so. I'd been living with them for nearly two weeks and I still wasn't entirely sure where I stood with them. They were still keeping so many secrets; I knew they didn't completely trust me. I felt his arms under me and that iron smell suddenly became quite strong. I did my best to keep still.

I heard his heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor as he carried me down the narrow hallway, which I had also painted beige. He nudged open the door to my room with his foot and settled me in my bed, pulling the blanket up to my shoulders like a big brother. I hoped he didn't just see me as a little sister.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, and it was all I could do to keep still. Then he murmured, "Goodnight, Mimi," and pulled the door closed.

**Another chapter down! This one was more of a transition chapter, but trust me, the action is definitely about to start picking up! Thank you for reading and please review!**


	10. Trouble is a Friend

**Okay, I'm pretty sure I have the best reviewers ever! Thank you guys so much! Every review makes my day! **

**sheridanodell: yeah, I think Mimi needs to come clean my house too haha although mine has never been quite as bad as Connor and Murphy's! **

**Belladonna: yep, Mimi is a painting fiend, apparently! **

**Rickii101: yay! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! I know, she's sort of like a mother to them sometimes XD**

**ShiveringTree: Glad you enjoyed the chapter!**

**Kelso18: I'm glad the chapters didn't disappoint you! I hope you like this one too!**

**Valerie Mackin: your review seriously made my day! Or rather my week! I always feel bad about doing filler chapters even though I feel that they're necessary, and your review made me feel much better about doing it! haha! Thanks!**

**Just so you guys know, I just finished rereading this entire story, and I'm sort of in love with it. I really enjoyed writing this one, so I'm starting on a sequel now! Hopefully it won't take me too long to get it written! **

Chapter Ten

Trouble is a Friend

He's there in the dark, he's there in my heart

He waits in the wind, he's gotta play a part

Trouble is a friend, yeah trouble is a friend of mine

-"Trouble is a friend" by Lenka

The next morning they were both gone when I woke up, though they'd left a note in Connor's chicken-scratch handwriting that they liked the way the living room looked. I was glad they appreciated my hard work, but I was starting to miss them. I was living with them now and I still didn't see as much of them as I had at the hospital.

Even though my arms ached, I made another trip to the hardware store and bought another can of paint with what was left of my allowance. I almost bought a pastel pink but then I reminded myself that I was nearly twenty-one years old and I bought a blue color instead. I used it to paint my bedroom.

I was sitting up that night, eating a bowl of ramen by myself and feeling quite lonely, when the news came on. It was another report about another group of tortured murder victims, still unidentified. The news reporter talked again about the Saints, wondering if they were behind the murders or not. Public sentiment seemed to think not. I frowned, a forkful of steaming noodles halfway to my mouth. Who the hell were these Saints they kept talking about?

I made it my mission to find out. The next day, while Connor and Murphy were out, I took a trip to the library. They had reserves of all the newspapers, so I started looking through them. It was a long process, even if I only focused on the front page. I found a couple stories, but I kept going back until I got to the very first one.

It was about Connor and Murphy. It even used their names. Apparently they had been involved in a bar fight with a couple of Russian mobsters and came out victorious. They'd killed the Russians but weren't charged; it was declared self-defense. The media called them the Saints of South Boston. This had happened right after I was admitted to St. Rose, so that would explain why I hadn't heard anything about it.

The next articles didn't name the twins. They were about two vigilantes that were going around offing members of the Russian and Italian mobs here in Boston. The papers called these vigilantes the Saints as well, though they seemed not to know who the Saints really were. I found that a little odd.

The articles got worse and worse as I went on. Eventually I got to one where three men, very clearly Irish, had shot a mob don in the middle of a courtroom and then disappeared. They were Irish, for god's sake. And the media hadn't put that together?

While I may have suffered from dysthymia, I wasn't an idiot. I also wasn't ready to quite jump to conclusions, even if the pieces all fit. The guns and the cops and the secrets. It was like a giant conspiracy. I figured I'd mess with them.

They came home for dinner that night, looking tired but with a smile for me. If they really were these Saints from the papers, I was probably their little slice of normal that kept them grounded in reality. No wonder they kept me around. I hummed "The Saints Go Marching In" while I set the table.

Murphy looked up sharply from where he was unlacing his boots, sharing a worried look with his brother that I caught out of the corner of my eye. "What's that you're singing, love?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh, just 'The Saints Go Marching In,'" I answered cheerfully. "You know: 'Oh when the saints go marching in! Oh when the saints go marching in! Lord how I want to be in that number when the saints go marching in!"

They didn't answer, just continued to look at each other with an unreadable expression. They probably had twin telepathy or something.

I made my next attack about a week later. We were all sitting on the sofa, watching another television report about mutilated victims. It seemed to really bother Murphy and Connor; they watched every report religiously. I didn't think they were behind it. In fact, I figured they were gone so much every day because they were trying to find the sicko who was.

"Hey, what do you guys think about saints?" I asked in an offhand manner, painting my nails candy apple red.

They both looked at me incredulously. "What?"

"You're both Catholic, right? So you know about saints, right?" I didn't look up from my work. "Patron saints and all that shit? I was just wondering if there was a patron saint for those who get tortured, like these poor people they keep talking about on the news."

Murphy ran his fingers through his hair and Connor let out his breath explosively. I really had them on edge. "No, we don't know anything about that. You can probably pick up a book on Catholic saints if you're interested."

"Hm. I might do that." I capped my nail polish. "Well, I'm off to bed. Night boys."

It was October by now and still I played my slow game. I'd wait until they were no longer holding their breath, waiting for one of my little jibes, and then I'd let them have it. I asked whether they thought the New Orleans Saints would make it to the upcoming Superbowl. I asked them if they celebrated All Saints Day, which was coming up at the end of the month. I even asked them if they listened to the band The Saints or ate Saints Pizza.

And the tortured victims continued. There was a group of bodies found once a week, always at a different location. According to the bright young news anchorwoman who announced the grim stories each week, the cops were baffled. I didn't doubt it. With every news story that was announced, I watched Connor and Murphy grow grimmer and grimmer.

We were watching the news report of the fourth mass homicide, victims tortured like usual, Monday evening. I'd cleaned up the dinner dishes and was perched between them on the sofa, a copy of _War and Peace_ open on my lap. I'd looked up to watch the news report.

"What shitty news," I complained. "And right before my birthday, too."

That seemed to catch their attention. "Your birthday's coming up?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it's the fifteenth. Friday."

Murphy grinned despite the seriousness of the news report we'd been watching. "And you'll be twenty-one, right?" He and Connor exchanged another look, this one leaving them both with big, goofy grins.

I felt a little suspicious. "...Yes?"

Connor slammed his hand down on the armrest of the couch, still grinning. "Well then, we'll have to go out to celebrate, won't we?"

**Bahahaha Mimi is so evil sometimes! Sorry this chapter is a little short, but I think I'm updating fairly quickly so that should make up for it! Please review and let me know what you think!**

**Oh, also, everyone should look up and listen to the song used for this title! I'm not usually one to push music on people, but everyone should listen to Lenka. All of her music is super adorable, and 'Trouble is a Friend' is one of my favorite songs! I first discovered her when I was in a lyrical piece to this song, and now I listen to her almost every day! So check her out! **


	11. Let's Get Fucked Up and Die

**Again, I don't even know how to express how grateful I am for all your wonderful reviews! **

**Kelso18: Haha yeah the boys aren't very good at hiding their true feelings, are they? They wear their hearts on their sleeves, so to speak! **

**sheridanodell: I'm glad you liked how she tortured them haha sometimes I think they deserve it XD**

**SaraLostInes: Haha I'm glad you liked my song choice! I love Lenka so I try to spread her everywhere I go!**

**Belladonna: Yeah, that part always bothered me a bit. I mean, I know people can be stupid but THAT stupid? Unlikely XD**

**Valerie Mackin: It's true, some chapters just work much better short! This is not one of them however!**

**gurl3677: Glad you like it! Keep reading and I'll keep updating XD**

**Rickii101: YES! YOU ARE CORRECT! Haha to McGinty's they go! **

**Oh yeah, and just as a side note, I (sadly) don't own anything that isn't mine. **

Chapter 11

Let's Get Fucked Up and Die

Let's get fucked up and die

For the last time with feeling

We'll try not to smile

As we cover our heads and drink heavily into the night

-"Let's Get Fucked Up and Die" by Motion City Soundtrack

Friday rolled around without much incident. We ate dinner together as usual and then Murphy announced, sounding quite pleased with himself, that they were taking me to some nearby bar to celebrate my finally being the legal age to drink.

I had gotten a job at a boutique just a few stops up from ours, mainly for two reasons. One, I felt bad about accepting the boys' money, no matter how illegally it was acquired. And two, I got everything in the store at half-price and I used this discount to supplement my poor wardrobe. Even though I knew I was supposed to be saving, I bought a lot of clothes when I first started working there.

Since I'd never been to a bar before, I didn't know quite what to wear. I'd never been one to care too much about fashion anyway. I spent most of my day in jeans and t-shirts. The boutique, however, had a trendy dress code and I was starting to learn. I stood in front of my open closet in my underwear, chewing on my bottom lip as I tried to decide what to wear. Eventually I settled on a pair of skinny jeans (which I'd never worn before working at the boutique) and a red halter top that left most of my back bare. I decided I'd try heels again; I hadn't worn heels since my visit to Jamie's grave with Dr. Mendoza, but I'd bought a pair of red ones that matched my shirt.

"Mimi!" Murphy called from the living room. "Are you ready to go yet?"

"Yeah," I answered, grabbing a light black jacket and joining them in the living room. They looked me over without comment, and I felt self-conscious. Like I said, I didn't dress up much.

The place we ended up going to was a little Irish pub called McGinty's Bar about two blocks from the tenement where we lived. It was already packed when we walked in the front door even though it was only a quarter after nine. A typical Friday night in Southie, I thought to myself. It was hot and humid inside, and Murphy took my jacket from me almost immediately.

As expected, Connor and Murphy knew _everyone_. Almost all of them were Irish, probably from the same neighborhood I now lived in. Some might even have worked at the meat packing plant the brothers were still claiming to work at. Most were already well on their way to being drunk.

Connor hopped easily up on the bar, ignoring the bartender's stuttering complaints. They seemed very close to the bartender, whom they called Doc. Connor's head nearly brushed the ceiling as he half-stood half-crouched on the counter. "Listen up," he shouted to the assembled patrons, and, miraculously, they did. He grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me easily onto the bar with him, my heels scrambling to steady myself. "It's Mimi's twenty-first birthday!"

The slightly inebriated crowd cheered like I had accomplished some mean feat by reaching this birthday. I just stood there blushing, fidgeting. I didn't really like being in the spotlight.

Connor continued, still holding my hand. "She's got to take twenty-one shots tonight to celebrate! And, for those of you lucky bastards who buy her those twenty-one shots, she's got twenty-one kisses to give away!"

"Connor!" I protested, my blush deepening.

"Well," Doc chuckled as Connor helped me down off the bar without breaking my neck. "L-let me the first t-t-to buy you one." And he poured me a shot of something amber. I didn't know what it was.

It seemed everyone in the pub was watching me closely; even the conversation had stopped. "What the hell." I gave in and leaned all the way across the bar, pecking Doc lightly on the lips before I tossed back the shot. It tasted disgusting, like acid on my tongue. It burned like fire on the way down and I screwed up my face, but the crowd cheered.

Connor, still standing at my side, grinned that goofy grin of his and slammed a five dollar bill onto the damp countertop. "The next one's on me."

So Doc poured me another shot, and this time he gave me a lemon with it. "What's this for?" I asked, plucking the lemon off the edge of the shot glass.

"Just suck on the juice after you've taken the shot," the Irish woman to my right explained. "It'll help with the awful taste."

I held up my glass to the room at large. "Number two," I announced. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and tossed the liquid down my throat, trying not to taste it. Connor immediately captured my mouth in a kiss. When he pulled away, I shoved the lemon right between my teeth and sucked as hard as I could. "These taste absolutely awful!" I complained around the lemon, already feeling my inhibitions slipping away. Connor simply laughed.

"Take it slow," Murphy grinned from beside me. "You've still got nineteen shots to go. Better have a glass of water."

After I'd downed my plastic cup of cool water, two Irish guys I'd never seen before bought two more of my kisses with shots of whiskey. Then I got roped into playing a game of pool with the twins and one of their old friends, a man by the name of Seamus. They argued for about five minutes about whose team I had to be on because, even though they'd all been drinking since we got there, they weren't on my level. Finally Connor agreed to have me, mostly because the twenty-one shots had been his idea.

We lost the game. By a lot. I hadn't mentioned that I'd never played pool before.

I took shots five, six, and seven in quick succession. Then the boys insisted that I have a seat in one of the booths and drink more water and eat something. The bar only had baskets of chips, but that's what we ate.

"What I don't understand about our government, which was founded on the principle of freedom, is why they think it's their job to tell every other country how to run themselves," I slurred, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten tortilla chip. "Our health care sucks. Our educational system sucks. Our country has become a bastardization of the principles on which it was founded! I mean, it just doesn't make any sense!"

"Aye," Murphy grinned, a beer in hand. "It's fucking insane. Good thing Con and I aren't American."

"Fuck you," I grumbled, crunching through another chip. I turned to Connor, sitting beside me. "Let me up. I've got to pee."

"Again?" he laughed, scooting out of the way nonetheless.

I gave him a level look, which was surprisingly hard to do. "Yes. Again."

On the way back from the restroom, I got shots (and kisses) eight, nine, and ten. Then, definitely stumbling now, I found my way back to our booth.

"You know, maybe twenty-one shots is too much," Connor suggested, watching as I tripped over Murphy trying to sit back down. He caught me easily, his hand on my arm. I liked it there. I didn't want him to move it, but he did.

I slammed both palms down on the tabletop, causing a chip to fall from our fresh basket. "No! I can do it! Half a shot more and I'm halfway there!"

Murphy grinned again, taking a long sip of his Guinness. "She's fine. She can still do simple math, can't she?"

"Exactly!" I agreed. "Just give me another glass of water and I'll be just fine."

I was halfway through that glass of water when a whole new group of patrons came through the front door. It must have been half past eleven or so by that point. "Fresh meat!" I cheered.

I scrambled out of the booth and wound my way through the drunk crowd to greet the newcomers, surveying the room by the front door. I could hear Connor and Murphy's drunk laughter following me, but I was past caring.

"Hi there." I smiled at the newcomers. They were all boys, probably not much older than I was. They looked like tourists. "Today's my twenty-first birthday and I have to take twenty-one shots. Would any of you like to buy me a shot in exchange for a kiss?"

Turned out they all wanted to buy me a shot, so I got eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen all at once. I also got five kisses.

Then Connor was at my side, wobbling a bit himself. "Sorry lads, I've got to steal her away for a moment," he said to the tourists. He steered me towards our booth. "Now Mimi, you've got to wait an hour before you take any more shots."

"But I've only got six more!" I allowed him to sit me down in the booth. He slid in after me as if blocking me in.

"Good for you." Murphy's eyes, that intense shade of blue, locked on mine. He was smirking. "You still have to wait an hour."

I frowned, slipping slowly at the glass of water he'd handed me. I felt antsy for some reason. Though I'd always been something of a loner, I felt more social than I ever had. I needed to be making new friends, not sitting in a booth with two drunk Irish guys I was already friends with.

"I want to go meet new people," I told them seriously. "I _need_ to meet new people!"

They both laughed loudly in response; they were pretty drunk, too.

"No," Connor assured me. "You don't." He draped an arm around my shoulder, chuckling. He seemed to get friendlier the more he drank, but it didn't bother me. I knew there would never be anything between the two of us other than a brother-sister relationship. Murphy, on the other hand...

I looked at him, frowning at these thoughts. Though I'd denied having real feelings for him practically since we'd met, I was pretty sure now that I was in love with him. But I had no idea, even after living with him for nearly a month, what his feeling were for me. All I knew was that he hadn't offered to buy me a shot (and give me a kiss) and there was no way I could ask him for fear that he'd refuse.

"What?" he demanded when he caught me looking at him.

I quickly looked down at my cup of water. "Nothing."

My hour of no drinking passed more quickly than I'd have thought. The twins, drunk and loose, kept me in stitches. They knew my sense of humor well.

And then a trio of young men with distinct Boston accents approached our table. "We hear you're trading kisses for shots," one of them said.

"Sounds like she's a prostitute," Connor muttered under his breath, and both he and Murphy cracked up even though it wasn't that funny.

"We'd like to buy you some shots," another of the trio declared.

Connor checked his watch, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. His face was very red. "Time out is over. You can go."

I felt the tiniest bit more sober as the trio of boys guided me back to the bar, where I took shots sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen (and gave away three more kisses).

Then they enticed me to join them in the crowd for a dance. Everyone seemed to be dancing now. Though I'd always been embarrassed to dance in front of anyone, I found that I didn't care anymore. I danced with a lot of people, finding myself on the arm of someone new almost as soon as I'd registered the last partner. Some of the men I danced with were almost as drunk as me.

It must have been about one thirty in the morning when I got another shot (and another kiss). As the man who'd bought it for me, a middle-aged Irish guy, tried to make small talk, I looked around the bar for Connor and Murphy. I realized I hadn't seen them in an hour or so.

"I think they went outside for some air," Doc told me when I asked.

Without really bidding my last shot-buyer farewell, I went in search of the twins, ready to boast. I was only two shots away from my goal of twenty-one and I was still standing. I knew they didn't expect a novice drinker like me to last so long.

They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder outside the front door in their short-sleeved black shirts, each with a cigarette in hand. It was times like these, when their mannerisms were so identical, that I could believe they were twins.

"There you are!" I exclaimed, letting the heavy door swing shut behind me. "I'm almost to my goal!"

"Good for you, lass." Connor grinned, putting his cigarette out on the brick exterior of the pub. "I'm going to head back inside. I think it's about time for another beer."

I yanked open the door like I was going to go back inside with him, but he stopped me.

"I think you should stay out here and get a little fresh air," he suggested with an overly-dramatic look at his brother. "Your face is pretty red. It'll be good for you." Another smile and he disappeared back inside. I was left outside with Murphy.

He blew an impressive plume of smoke from between his luscious lips. I felt like I couldn't stop staring at them. "So how many shots are you up to by now?" he asked.

"Nineteen," I announced proudly, rocking back and forth on me toes. "I only need...two more!"

He frowned and looked the other way, down the street lit only by the flickering street lamps. "How come you haven't asked me to buy you one?"

I froze on my toes, then let myself fall back flat-footed. I hadn't asked him because I couldn't handle it if he refused, but I couldn't tell him that. It was too embarrassing. I thought briefly back to our kiss at the hospital, which hadn't been mentioned the entire time I'd been living with the boys. "Why haven't you offered?"

He paused and looked back at me, the ghost of a smile on his thin face. "Fine then. But I'm not offering. I'm _telling_: Your last two shots are mine."

Murphy closed the distance between us and grabbed my face roughly with one hand. The other he used to grab a fistful of my loose hair, jerking my head back just the slightest bit. Then he crushed his mouth to mine.

This was nothing like the kisses I'd been receiving all night or the one we'd shared at the hospital. There was a hidden hunger behind this, a fierceness I hadn't expected or knew what to do with. He kissed me harder, more passionately.

I parted my lips and let him in, closing my eyes. If I'd been more sober, thinking clearly, my mind would have been racing a million miles a minute. At it was, I thought nothing and simply enjoyed it.

He pulled back after several long minutes with one last, sweet kiss that lingered on my lips. Our eyes were just inches apart, locked, unblinking. We were both breathing heavily. I felt I had been somewhat shocked out of my drunk stupor.

"Wow," I finally gasped, feeling the weight of him pressed against my chest and unable to deny the heat I felt. "You owe me _a lot_ of shots."

He chuckled, bowing his head and letting his forehead rest against mine. His skin was hot and damp. "You only get two," he told me sternly, grinning. "And I'm surprised you haven't passed out yet."

We stood that way for a few more minutes, our foreheads pressed together, his hand still tangled in my hair. Then he released me and took a step back, looking off down the street like he was suddenly embarrassed. "Let's go get you those fucking shots, then."

The pub seemed suddenly too stuffy and too crowded as we slipped back inside. My head was spinning and, for the first time that night, I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts.

Murphy shouldered his way through the drunk crowd to join Connor at the bar, and I followed closely in his wake.

"Two shots of tequila, Doc," he said, handing a ten dollar bill to his old friend.

Doc poured the shots with shaking hands. "Aren't you done yet, lass?" he said to me.

"Almost. These are my last two." I grinned and tossed back the shots, one right after the other. I didn't even bother with the damn lemons anymore. I slammed the last glass back onto the counter. "Done!" I announced triumphantly.

Connor patted me on the back. "Well done! I can't believe you really took all twenty-one shots!" He sounded impressed.

"Yeah-" I began, but I stopped as a sudden and unexpected wave of nausea swept over me. I clapped my hand over my mouth, eyes wide.

"Christ, she's going to be sick," Murphy grumbled as I pushed past them and made a mad dash for the women's restroom at the very back of the pub.

I made it just in time to collapse in front of a dirty toilet and throw up not only everything I'd drunk, but everything I'd eaten that day too. I vomited _a lot_. My throat was burning, my nose was running, and the muscles in my stomach were aching like I'd just done a hundred sit-ups. I felt suddenly awful.

The bathroom door opened as I was wiping my nose with the back of my hand and a woman in low-riding blue jeans came in. I think her name was Joan; the twins had introduced her as an old friend earlier in the evening, when I hadn't been quite so drunk.

"Poor thing," she murmured in that thick Irish accent I was coming to know. She knelt beside me on the dirty floor and held my loose hair back as another wave of vomiting overtook me.

That bout took several minutes to spend itself. I felt tears in my eyes as I heaved. The words _destructive tendency_ flashed through my mind - in Dr. Mendoza's perfectly controlled voice.

Joan handed me a bit of scratchy toilet paper to wipe my mouth with as I sat back up. "I told those idiots that twenty-one shots was too much for a pretty little thing like you, but they never listen. Once Connor gets an idea into his head, there's no going back." She laughed, and it sounded a little bitter to me.

I coughed into the toilet paper. "Have you known them long? Connor and Murphy, I mean?"

"Long enough," she answered, brushing some damp hair off my sweaty forehead with a strange sort of tenderness. "We met not long after they moved to Boston. It's probably been six or seven years now. Everyone in our neighborhood knows everyone else, it seems."

I looked at her thoughtfully, fighting back more nausea. The more I looked at her, the more I realized that Joan wasn't just pretty - she was _gorgeous_. Like Dr. Mendoza gorgeous. She had straight hair a dark brown nearly black, that was cut bluntly just below her ears, longer in front than it was in the back. Her bangs, also bluntly cut, hung into a set of dark green, smoldering eyes. She was probably in her mid-twenties, about the age Jamie would have been had she lived.

"Have you ever dated either of them?" I blurted out. Then I quickly had to hunker over the toilet again as the nausea won.

She laughed loudly as she held my hair again, still sounding bitter and a little sad. "No. I asked Connor out once a year or so ago. It was hard; I'd had a crush on him for years. But he said no."

I looked miserably up from the toilet bowl. "Well you don't have to worry about me. It's Murphy I like."

She laughed again, tenderly this time. "It's alright, love. You can like whoever the hell you want to."

"He kissed me tonight, you know."

"Practically everyone kissed you tonight, lass," she grinned. Then she paused. "Are you talking about Connor or Murphy?"

"Murphy. Well, Connor too. But Murphy _really_ kissed me. Tongue and everything. It was a full-on make-out session." My mind knew I needed to just shut the hell up but my mouth wouldn't cooperate. "I wanted you to know so you wouldn't worry. I can put in a good word with Connor for you, if you'd like."

She laughed again, helping me to my unsteady feet. I was really regretting my choice of heels now. "Don't bother, love. That ship sailed a long time ago. I'm over it. Now, let's wash your mouth out."

Joan held my hair while I leaned over the sink, cupping cool water in my hands and drinking it to wash the taste of vomit out of my mouth. Then she handed me a mint from the tin in her pocket. "Suck on this," she ordered, and I obediently put the mint on my tongue. It had a strong taste; I liked it. "It'll help with the nausea," Joan explained. "Now let's get you home. You're going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning."

The pub seemed to have cleared out a little during my little stint in the restroom. The twins were waiting for us near the front door, both smoking cigarettes.

"You okay?" Murphy asked, looking closely at my face. I knew from looking in the mirror that it was sweaty and alarmingly pale. It was hard to believe that we'd been making out not thirty minutes ago.

"M'fine," I grumbled, rubbing at my eyes sleepily. Even with the mint, I still felt nauseas. I hoped there would be no more vomiting.

"Thanks for helping her out," Connor told Joan.

She didn't meet his gaze even though he was looking right at her. "You're welcome. You ought to get this lass home and right to bed."

"We'll do just that," Murphy promised.

The three of us stumbled out the front door into the early hours of the October morning. I would have fallen right down the steps if Connor hadn't caught me by the elbow and righted me before I could hit the pavement.

"Maybe we should take a cab," Murphy suggested wearily, rubbing at his eyes.

"It's two fucking blocks!" his brother protested. "You can't walk two fucking blocks?"

"She can't!" He meant me, and I had to agree with him. I could hardly stand up, much less walk. "You haven't healed enough to lift anything heavy, and I'm too fucking drunk to carry her."

"Did you just call me fat?" I interjected. They both ignored me.

Connor scratched his chin, thinking. It looked like, with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, it was hard work. "I guess we can carry her between us...?"

So I put an arm around each of their shoulders and we tried to walk. Needless to say it didn't work. Because they were so much taller than me, when they straightened up my feet dangled helplessly nearly a foot above the ground. But if they crouched down next to me they looked like hunchbacks.

"Fuck this," Murphy grumbled, kneeling down with his back to me. "Get on."

I tried not to giggle as I clambered laboriously onto his back. He lost his balance once and fell forward onto his hands. With some difficulty (and a lot of help from a hysterically-laughing Connor), Murphy got to his feet with me clinging haphazardly to his back.

It took the three of us forever to get home even though it was only two blocks. I didn't mind. The October air felt good against my burning skin. I let my head rest on Murphy's shoulder, my lips almost touching his neck but not quite. I inhaled deeply, allowing my eyes to close. He smelled wonderful and comforting, a mixture of cigarettes and alcohol and sweat.

The twins bantered back and forth as we meandered loudly down the street. I was afraid at first that someone might call the cops on us, but then I reminded myself that we were in an Irish neighborhood. We were probably only three of a hundred drunks making our way home.

There was a lot of laughing, cursing, and shouting as we stumbled into the tenement and into the elevator. And then we were in the apartment and Murphy was dropping me unceremoniously onto my bed. I saw his silhouette in the darkness turn to go.

"Take off my shoes," I whined. Though I had thus far been quite polite with them, I could be exceptionally whiny when I wanted to be.

He groaned but yanked off my heels and threw them into the corner. It was only after my feet had been released that I realized how much they hurt. "There," Murphy said. "Now go to sleep. And make sure to lay on your side in case you get sick again."

I snuggled under the sheets, feeling my grandmother's blanket against my cheek. "Murph?"

"What?" He paused again in the doorway, stifling a yawn.

"Do you like me?"

There was a long silence. I wished I could see his expression. Finally he sighed gently. "Go to sleep, Mimi."

And I did.

**DISCLAIMER: NO ONE SHOULD EVER DRINK THIS MUCH, EVER! **

**Just had to throw that out there. In reality, Mimi probably would have gotten alcohol poisoning or something from this XD**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Another little foray into Mimi's relationship issues! Please review! **


	12. The Phrase that Pays

**Thank you again for all your wonderful reviews!**

**gurl3677: haha let's hope Mimi doesn't have word vomit or anything XD and yeah she'd never have made it through those shots realistically .**

**SaraLostInes: I actually have several friends who did this on their 21st birthdays, and it never ended well XD still fun to shoot for! **

**IsThisACliche: It'll be a while before your burning questions are answered! Just keep reading!**

**Valerie Mackin: yes, the story will be taking a turn for the serious quite soon. I like the gooey bits too XD**

**sheridanodell: I know, right? I can't even imagine the hangover. I get hungover after like four shots haha**

**Rickii101: I'm glad somebody likes Joan! I'm sort of in love with her lol**

**ssw-rawr: yes, teens can be very, very dumb when it comes to alcohol lol. And not just teens, either. I know a certain few adults who should take my disclaimer to heart XD**

Chapter Twelve

The Phrase that Pays

My eyes can't believe what they have seen

In the corner of you room you've stockpiled millions of my memories

Oh Doctor, Doctor, I must have gotten sick somehow

I'm going to ask you a series of questions

And I want them answered on the spot right now

-"The Phrase That Pays" by The Academy Is...

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and an alarmingly dry mouth. The sun coming through the blinds over my window was unforgiving. I groaned and ran my fingers through my tangled hair. I smelled disgusting, like cigarettes and dirty bathrooms.

I stumbled into the bathroom, where I promptly brushed my teeth and climbed into the shower. I felt only marginally better after the shower, so I pulled on some sweats and went in search of some toast or something to calm my still-churning stomach.

Connor and Murphy were already gone. They'd left a note for me, but all it said was to drink more water. I made myself some toast and a single fried egg, and I sat at the table munching on it for nearly half an hour. It took me that long to get it down.

I tossed my dishes in the sink, feeling too crummy to wash them, and went in search of some Aspirin or something to quell the throbbing at my temple. There was nothing in the kitchen or in the bathroom, so I quietly pushed open the door to the bedroom the twins shared.

I'd never been in there before. They hadn't expressly told me not to go in, but it was sort of an unspoken agreement. I gave them their privacy and they gave me mine, although _I_ didn't have anything to hide. Their room was a disaster, much like the rest of the apartment had been when I'd moved in. Clothes and overflowing ashtrays were everywhere; the entire room smelled like a giant cigarette.

I started rifling through things, looking for any sort of headache medicine. With as much as they drank, I was sure they had some somewhere. That's when I found the guns.

There was a whole slew of them, carefully packed away underneath a seemingly innocuous pile of dirty clothes. I opened the case and picked one up. I'd never held a gun before. It was a handgun, but it was long and sleek and shiny. It was heavier than I'd expected.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when they returned, the gun sitting next to my hand. They were talking seriously to one another but stopped when they saw me. All color drained from their faces when they saw the gun.

"Mimi, what the fuck-" Murphy began. When his eyes met mine, I was reminded of the night before, but I forced myself not to blush.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" I asked them levelly. "I may have dysthymia but I'm not stupid. All the secrets and the detectives and FBI agents? The guns and all the cash you seem to have lying around? I trusted you. I thought you could trust me."

They said nothing but exchanged a worried look, like they were afraid I'd turn them in or something. That was definitely not my plan.

"You should have told me," I told them seriously. "Because I can help you catch these bastards that are mutilating innocent people all over town."

Now I really had their attention. "What the fuck are you talking about, Mimi?" Connor demanded. They both pulled up chairs to the table, their faces deadly serious now.

"They're calling you out," I explained, opening my notebook. I'd scribbled down what I'd worked out already. "By name."

Murphy shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Every week, they give you another letter," I explained, turning the notebook around so they could see what I'd written. "The first group of bodies were found at Sal's Shoe Store, the second at the Anderson Atrium, the third at the Ian Iomega, and-"

"The fourth at Neda's Nail Salon," Connor finished for me, seeing the pattern. "Fuck me..."

I nodded, pulling my notebook back towards me. "In keeping with the pattern, it stands to reason that their next location will be one with T alliteration. Now I've done some research. There are only three locations in town that fit that description."

I unfolded my map, where I had circled the three locations in question with marker. The map took up almost the entire table.

"Trinity Tower, Too Trendy, and the Turtle Theater," Murphy read, frowning. "How do we know which one they'll use?"

I pointed to the Turtle Theater. "All the other locations have been within the limits of South Boston. This theater is the only one of the three that is. That's where they'll hit next."

Murphy ran his fingers through his hair wearily. "And how are we going to know when they'll make their next fucking move?"

"That's a pattern too," I explained, reaching for my notebook again. "The first letter was an S, right? That's the nineteenth letter of the alphabet. Subtract fourteen from nineteen and you've got five. The fifth day of the week is Friday. That's when the first victims were killed. A: Monday. I: Tuesday. And N: Friday. T will be on Saturday, today."

Murphy shook his head, looking tired. "How the fuck did you figure this shit out, Mimi? The FBI has been trying to find their pattern for weeks now!"

I shrugged. "It was easy, I thought."

"I assume there's a pattern for the time, too?" Murphy prompted, lighting a cigarette.

"Of course. It goes along with the letters. Since S is the nineteenth letter, the first group of victims were killed at the nineteenth hour: seven p.m."

"Of course," Murphy agreed grimly. "The second group was killed at one in the morning, the third nine a.m., and the fourth at two p.m."

Connor lit a cigarette too. "So that means the next attack will be at the Turtle Theater at eight o'clock tonight."

"Right." I folded up my map and replaced it in the notebook.

"Shit," Murphy grumbled. "That doesn't leave us a lot of time. Plus we don't know a fucking thing about these bastards other than they like torturing innocent people to draw us out."

I frowned at my hands. "So you're going tonight?"

"Of course we're going!" Murphy snapped. He'd never snapped at me before. "We have to go or more innocent people are going to die."

I nodded. I knew that, but it didn't make me feel any better about them going off to a gun fight. I had come to like them very much. They were the closest thing I had to a family now.

Murphy seemed to sense this and he backed off a bit. "We'll be careful. We always are," he assured me, getting to his feet. "I've got to call Smecker. He'll want to know about this." He disappeared into their bedroom.

"Who's Smecker?" I directed my question to Connor.

He tipped his ashes into a clean ashtray. "He's the FBI agent in charge of the Saints investigation. He's damn good at what he does."

"And he's on our side?" I subconsciously included myself in their little group without realizing.

"Aye," Connor nodded. "Him and three detectives. They keep the heat off of us, steer the other cops in the wrong direction when they start getting too close. He's going to be damn pleased that at least somebody could figure this pattern out."

Murphy returned a moment later, still looking grim. "Smecker wants to meet. He wants Mimi to come too."

"Me?" I hadn't been expecting that. A thank you, maybe, but not an invitation to meet. That was out of my league.

"Aye, you." That ghost of a smile was back on Murphy's face. I couldn't wait until this torture thing was over. I wanted to see him really smile again. "He wants to meet the girl who cracked the code in person."

"When?" Connor asked, putting out his cigarette.

"Now."

We left the apartment silently, each caught up in our own thoughts. Connor climbed behind the wheel of the Avenger and we headed for this tiny diner not too far from the tenement. Murphy and Connor led the way to a booth in the back, where a gentleman in a camel-colored suit was sitting, smoking a cigarette. Connor slid into the booth beside the FBI agent, so I was left to sit by Murphy. Our thighs touched, and it was all I could do to keep my thoughts on the matter at hand.

"So this is the little genius who figured out the pattern?" Smecker asked, looking me up and down. I'm sure I didn't seem like much. "Nice to meet you. I'm Agent Smecker."

"Mimi Benson," I answered, shaking his outstretched hand.

Smecker turned his attention to the two boys. "So they're going to hit again at the Turtle Theater at eight o'clock tonight?"

"That's what Mimi says," Connor agreed, frowning. "The pattern is genius. I don't doubt that that's where we'll find the fuckers."

Now Smecker frowned. "I feel like you shouldn't just barge in there. It's you they're expecting, and they'll probably have ambushes or something set up. It might be better if you boys lay low and I send in my own team. They sure as fuck won't be expecting that."

"No," Murphy said firmly. The waitress who had just approached the table looked startled at his vehement tone. We quickly ordered a plate of fries and some sodas and she hurried away. "No," Murphy repeated, quieter now. "Con and I will handle this. It's us they want; it's us they're going to get."

"Aye," Connor agreed grimly. "These fuckers are seriously messed up. I haven't seen any of the bodies of the victims, but I heard through the grapevine that they were completely mutilated. Twisted psychopath type of mutilated."

Smecker sighed and took a sip of his latte. "It wasn't pretty, that's for damn sure. Some of them were too fucked up to even identify. These people, whoever they are, are masters of torture. I'm talking all sorts of ancient shit. Some expert identified a few of the torture devices: Breast Ripper, Heretics Fork, Pear of Anguish. And not a single one of them was tortured the same way."

"Fuck, I don't even know what those names mean," Connor grumbled, accepting a soda from the timid waitress.

"The Breast Ripper is exactly like it sounds," I found myself explaining. "It's a claw-like piece of iron that's heated until it's red hot and then used to literally rip women's breasts from their chests. The Heretics Fork is a choker with two spikes, one that presses into the victim's chin and the other into their chest. Any movement, no matter how small, pierces the skin. And the Pear of Anguish... well it's a pear-shaped device that was inserted into any orifice in the body. As the torturer turned a screw at the top, the pear shape would open and expand, ripping whatever it was in to pieces."

They were all staring at me. "Do I even want to know why you're an expert on medieval torture devices?" Smecker asked.

I blushed, picking at my fries. "I did a report on it my freshman year of college. It's the type of thing that you don't forget, that's all."

There was a pause, during which Connor slurped at his soda noisily. Then the conversation about the unknown killers resumed.

"So far, I think we're dealing with a small group," Smecker explained. "Small but powerful. They don't like outsiders. They're probably a very tight-knit group. Intelligent. They've probably been around for a long time, only now they want to expand their enterprises. Who knows what the hell they've got their hands in. Drugs, arms, whatever. Hell, maybe even the human trafficking trade. We just have no clue."

Connor stole a fry from my plate. "We'll see if we can get any information out of them tonight," he muttered. "I don't like this, though. We're going in fucking blind. We have no idea what we're going to find."

"Aye," his brother agreed. "But what choice have we got?"

**DUN DUN DUN! I LOVE CLIFFHANGERS!**

**Okay, well you know the drill. Leave me lots of reviews please! **


	13. You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in

**Thanks for reading guys!**

**sheridanodell: thanks for the compliment! When I write stories I try to branch out and do things that haven't been done often, and that really challenges my creativity XD**

**gurl3677: I love Mimi too! I didn't at first, but now I do**

**SaraLostInes: yeah, I had to do a report like my freshman year in college on medieval torture devices, and the information never really left me. but just wait, the torture devices get worse!**

**Belladonna: yep, the boys are definitely up against some serious sickos**

**Valerie Mackin: another chapter for your reading pleasure!**

**h.p.c.k.m.a.: it was complicated but I hope it turned out all right**

Chapter 13

You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison

In the middle of a gunfight

In the middle of a restaurant

They say "Come with your arms raised high!"

Well they're never gonna get me

Like a bullet through a flock of doves

To wage this was against your faith in me

-"You know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison" - My Chemical Romance

I was feeling a lot like Val as I watched Connor and Murphy suit up that evening, once we were back at the apartment. They didn't bother to hide anything from me anymore, so I saw them strapping the holsters to themselves, loading their guns and gathering a bagful of bright pennies.

"Can't I come with you?" I asked. I was perched on the end of one of their beds, my arms wrapped around my knees, watching them. There was this awful sinking feeling in my chest. I felt for a moment like I was still at St. Rose.

Murphy glared at me, his eyes flashing. "Of course not," he growled, slipping his last gun into its holster. "You'll fucking stay here like we told you."

I glared at him, but, in the end, I was left at home while they left for the Turtle Theater, an old movie theater that played nothing but old black-and-white movies. I locked the door after them and settled on the sofa, my knees drawn up to my chin. I turned on the television but I couldn't focus.

Time was my enemy now. I just sat there for hours, my heart pounding. So this was what it felt like to have a panic attack.

It wasn't until after midnight that the door opened and they came stumbling in, covered in blood and cursing like sailors. I jumped off the couch, instant relief flooding my body.

"What the hell happened?" I demanded as they slammed the door behind them. "Did you get them?"

"Fuck no," Murphy snapped. His hand was pressed over his arm, which was bleeding profusely. His fingers were stained red. "They got away. And we got fucking shot."

I was at his side in an instant, clutching him, not caring that I was covered in blood now too. "Oh my god, they shot you! Connor, are you shot too?"

"Aye," he muttered through clenched teeth, sitting down slowly at the kitchen table. "Fucking again!" He had both hands pressed over a wound on his upper thigh, blood seeping through his fingers.

I set my jaw and went in search anything useful. I mean, had I spent seven months in a hospital or hadn't I? I turned to Connor first, as he was already injured in the first place. He hadn't even healed from the last gunshot wounds.

I unbuckled his belt and peeled his pants down, revealing bloodstained navy blue boxers. He howled with pain as the denim, which had stuck to his skin with congealed blood, ripped the wound open again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I shouted above his screaming, my own hands stained with blood now. I pressed the heel of my hand against the wound, trying to stem the flow. With one hand still pressed over the gunshot wound, I grabbed the bottle of Everclear I'd swiped from the cabinet. Using my mouth, I twisted off the top and poured a good portion of the bottle over the bloody mess on his leg.

He clenched his teeth tightly together and grunted, but at least he didn't scream again. Murphy was there kneeling next to me, helping me hold his brother down. His was grimacing; he was clearly in a lot of pain too.

As the alcohol cleared some of the blood out of the way, I could see the tip of the bullet inside the wound. It wasn't very deep. Taking my tweezers, I plucked it out as quickly as I could. This time the howling would not be contained. I wondered if any of our neighbors would call the cops.

There was no gauze in the house, so I ripped up the sheet that had been on my bed and tied it tightly around the wound, but not too tightly. I wasn't trying to make a tourniquet or anything. Then, slipping on the blood puddled on the wooden floor, I managed to grab the orange prescription bottle of pain meds. My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I shook two out of the bottle and forced them into Connor's mouth. He swallowed them and sighed explosively, leaning his head back against the chair.

"_Fuck_," he muttered.

"I can handle myself," Murphy grunted as I turned on him with my bloodstained hands. "The bullet just grazed my arm. I'll be fine."

"Like hell I'm not going to look at it," I snapped, almost as fiercely as him. "Now sit down and shut the fuck up!" Wordlessly he did so.

I wasn't as confident as I sounded as I used the kitchen scissors to cut his shirt off. He had his name tattooed across his chest and a Celtic cross, identical to the one his brother had, on his right forearm. My hands were trembling as I used most of what was left of the Everclear over his wound.

Murphy growled at me and snatched the bottle from my hands, downing the remainder. Then he fixed me with that steely blue gaze, our eyes almost as close as they had been the night of my birthday. "Fucking do it already," he hissed.

I bit my bottom lip hard, trying to keep my thoughts to myself, as I cleaned off the wound and dressed it with the linens. I finally released him and he sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, exhausted and in pain.

I scrambled to my feet. My pants were soaked with blood from the knees down; my feet were completely red with it. I got another of Connor's pain pills and gave it to Murphy. Like his brother, he took it without water.

I slipped and slid across the kitchen floor to the cabinets, where I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and brought it back to the table. Connor took a long sip and passed it to his brother, who in turn passed it to me. Even though I'd sworn off drinking after the night before, I took a liberal drink. It burned on the way down, but I felt a little bit calmer.

I was still sitting in the floor in a puddle of their blood, and I set the bottle of whiskey aside and looked up at them. "_Please_," I practically begged. "Tell me what happened."

Connor gestured for the whiskey and, after another drink, answered. "We got to the theater right on time," he explained. "It was a group of kids rehearsing a play. A fucking group of kids."

"Where they there? The torturers, I mean?" I pressed. "Did you see them?"

"Aye, we fucking saw them," Murphy grunted. "There were about ten of them that were there, but it was obvious who the leader was. He was this big fucking bastard. Gave me the fucking creeps just looking at him."

Connor took another swig. "Aye. His left arm was covered in these awful fucking burns, and there was a scar across his face. Fucking bastard."

"We stopped them from hurting the kids," Murphy said. "We took down five of the cronies, but the big mother fucker got away. Not before shooting the both of us, though. And he said something weird, too."

I was metaphorically on the edge of my seat, though I was still technically sitting on the bloody floor. "What did he say?"

"_Al tău timp is aproape sus, fofoloanca_," Connor repeated, screwing up his face. "We have no idea what it means."

"It's Romanian," I told them, gesturing for the bottle of whiskey. I took another sip, ignoring the burning sensation.

Murphy squinted at me. "You speak Romanian?"

"I have a knack with languages," I admitted, brushing a piece of hair off my forehead. "Sort like a photographic memory or something."

"Well?" Connor prompted. "What the hell did he say?"

I set the bottle aside. "He said your time is almost up. And he called your pussies."

"That mother fucker," Murphy swore. "I can't believed we fucked this one up. They were going to kill fucking kids, for fuck's sake!"

I put my hand on his knee and he stopped ranting, startled. "Quit beating yourself up. There's still one more letter. Another S. Next Friday. We've got almost a week. We can do this."

"Aye, thanks lass." Connor put his hand on my shoulder. It was heavy; he must have been exhausted. "I'm going to call Smecker. He'll want to know what happened." He got to his feet wearily and went off towards their bedroom to make the call.

I got to my feet. "Make sure you tell him they're Romanian!" I called after him.

When I glanced back at Murphy, he was staring down at the tabletop grimly, that angry expression on his face. I wanted to reassure him somehow that everything would be alright, but what the hell did I know? I was a newbie. So I peeled off my drenched sweatpants and, balling them up, threw them into the sink. I was wearing black boy shorts underneath, so I wasn't _too _embarrassed. Then I grabbed the paper towels and tried to mop up the blood. If I got it up quickly it might not stain the wood.

I had already used about half the roll of paper towels when I felt Murphy's gaze on me. I glanced over my shoulder. "Are you staring at my ass?" I demanded archly.

"Kind of hard not to when you put it out there like that," he answered wearily, the bottle of whiskey in his hand.

I gathered up the blood-soaked paper towels and threw them away before I reached for the all-purpose cleaner under the sink. Then I stopped, hands on my hips. "What are we doing, Murphy?"

He finally looked at me, and he looked almost sad. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Never mind." I dropped back to my knees, thinking that this was not the right time to bring up our relationship, if there was even a relationship there. He didn't press the matter; he probably already knew what I was going to say anyway.

Connor rejoined us as I wiped the last of the blood away and tried to wipe the blood off my bare legs. He glanced at me briefly but didn't comment about my lack of pants. He was only wearing underwear too.

"Smecker was pissed, of course," he told us, sinking back into his chair. "But he's glad we at least got some information. He's going to see what he can find. He thinks knowing that they're Romanian is a good fucking lead. Way to go, Mimi. He wants you to go down to the police station with him tomorrow."

I felt my heart stop and I looked up from my legs, stained with blood. "What? The police station? What for?"

"He thinks you could be a real asset to the case," Connor shrugged. "He's going to get you a fake FBI badge. He said he'll pick you up here at nine."

"A fake FBI badge?" I repeated incredulously. "Isn't that beyond stupid? If we're found out, we'll all be in major shit!"

Murphy laughed harshly. "Look around you, Mimi. We're already in major fucking shit. What's another infraction on our record?"

I pressed my lips together tightly and didn't say anything else.

Connor checked his watch with a heavy sigh. "Fuck. It's already almost three. Smecker's going to be here to pick you up in six hours. We've _got_ to get some fucking sleep. Mimi can have the first shower."

It was something of a relief to shut myself in the bathroom and strip off the rest of my clothes. Even my panties and tank top were spattered with blood; my bra was the only thing that had escaped unscathed.

I turned the taps as hot as they would go and stepped under the spray, letting it plaster my hair to my forehead and neck. The water that swirled around my feet was red, like I was the one with a gunshot wound. I could have stood there under the scalding spray for hours, but I knew both Connor and Murphy needed to get into the bathroom and clean up too, so I reluctantly shut off the taps and dried off.

"Night," I called grimly. There was only a murmuring response. I went to bed, with only my grandmother's blanket to cover up with now since I'd used my sheet for bandages, but it was a very long time before I fell asleep.

**There you go! Another chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it and I'll post another one soon but please review! Oh, and as for the Romanian translation, I used an online translator so if you speak Romanian and can read it and it doesn't come out entirely correct, don't hate me! I took Spanish and French in college, not Romanian! XD**


	14. Everywhere

**Alright guys, a bit longer between updates this time. Sorry!**

**Belladonna925: bahahaha your comment about swiss cheese made me laugh! And yeah, I can't really see Murphy being all romantic with flowers and chocolates and stuff...**

**SaraLostInes: YAY! I try to keep it getting better XD**

**Valerie Mackin: haha yay I like being able to surprise my readers!**

**Rickii101: yeah it does suck about them getting away, but who knows if they'll get away next time?**

**Azalia Fox Knightling: Your review was super nice! I hope this story inspired you to watch!**

**Chelle1908: I'm glad you like this story! For me personally, bad grammar is a huge turnoff when trying to find a good fanfic to read, so I always try to make sure my stuff is grammatically correct before I post it. But I hope you keep reading! **

Chapter Fourteen

Everywhere

Just tell me how I got this far

Just tell me why you're here and who you are

'Cause every time I look

You're never there

And every time I sleep

You're always there

-"Everywhere" by Michelle Branch

I had probably only been really asleep for an hour or two when I felt someone shaking me awake. I opened my eyes sleepily and saw Murphy crouched over me, shirtless, clean bandages wound around his arm.

"You've got to get up, Mimi," he said gently. "Smecker will be here to get you in an hour, and you've got to look like an FBI agent. You'd better get moving."

It was with a great deal of reluctance that I got out of my nice warm bed. I wore my pencil skirt, the one I'd worn to visit Jamie's grave, and a pearl-colored blouse. I'd bought a pair of creamy heels at the boutique, and I put these on. I brushed my hair and put it up in a French twist; I only had a little makeup at my disposal but I used it.

I was feeling proud of myself on my little deception when I emerged into the kitchen. Connor must have still been asleep, but Murphy was drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette, watching the news.

"How do I look?" I asked, doing a turn for him. I tried not to think of all the blood that had been on the floor the night before. "Like an FBI agent?"

He glanced up and gave me that ghost of a smile. "A little young, but aye, you'll pass well enough."

"Thanks. I guess I'll go down and wait for Smecker." I hesitated, then leaned down and pressed my lips against his.

He didn't react for a second, and then his hand came up to cup my cheek gingerly and he kissed me back. My lips parted and he started to take advantage of it. I could taste the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath.

Then he pulled back, a pained expression on his face, and rested his forehead against my collarbone. "I _can't_, Mimi," he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. His hand dropped from my cheek.

"Okay, I understand," I lied cheerfully, willing the sense of rejection out of my voice. "Make sure you eat something, okay? I better go meet Smecker anyway." I turned on my heel and left, not allowing myself to exhale until I was safely in the elevator.

_What the hell was that_, I asked myself, punching the button for the lobby. Why were things like this between us? If he wanted to kiss me, then why couldn't he?

I was afraid I'd have to wait out front of the tenement for at least fifteen or twenty minutes for Smecker, alone with my thoughts, but he pulled up after only two. He didn't honk or call me over, simply waved with the hand holding his cigarette.

I had to take small steps in my heels, but it almost made me feel more feminine as I walked around the front of the car and got into the passenger seat.

"Well, good morning," he greeted me, pulling away from the curb. "Don't you clean up nice? I hope you're ready for a long day."

It was about a twenty to thirty minute drive through Boston traffic to get to the South Boston police station. I got more and more nervous as we drove. Smecker didn't talk until we got closer.

"There are three detectives that are in on this with us," he explained, making a right turn. "Dolly, Duffy, and Greenly. Those are the only ones, though. Everyone else has to be kept completely in the dark. You have to be very careful not to let anything slip. Can you do that, Mimi?"

I gulped. "Yeah."

He frowned as he pulled into the police station's parking lot. "You know, Mimi isn't that professional of a name."

I couldn't agree with him more. Even though it sounded natural coming from everyone else, it just sounded ridiculous coming from Smecker. "You can call me Naomi."

"Naomi?" he repeated.

"Yeah, my real name," I explained, my heart pounding as he cut the engine. I was really going to have to go through with this. "Everybody just calls me Mimi for short."

He nodded, pocketing the keys and climbing out of the car. "Naomi sounds much more like an FBI agent. Let's do this." I had no choice but to follow.

The main room of the police station was crowded with cops in pressed blue uniforms, laughing and joking with one another. A lot of them had faint Irish accents; they might even have lived in the same neighborhood I was living in now. They stopped when we walked in, all eyes suddenly on me.

I felt self-conscious but I held my head high. They must not have gotten many women FBI agents there. Not that I was a real one, of course. I was barely twenty-one years old and I'd never quite looked my age.

Smecker didn't look at any of the open-mouthed police officers as he led the way to a conference room in the bowels of the building. I had no choice but to follow him, acting for all the world like I belonged there.

There were three middle-aged men sitting around a long table covered with paperwork and empty Styrofoam cups of coffee. The bulletin board behind them was covered with maps and loose pieces of paper that meant nothing to me.

"Detectives, this is Agent Benson," Smecker introduced me, taking my coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. "Naomi, these are Detectives Greenly, Duffy, and Alapopskalius."

"Nice to meet you, Detectives." I plastered a pretty smile on my face and shook their outstretched hands. "Greenly, Duffy, and..."

The last man chuckled and gave me a friendly smile. "You can just call me Dolly," he assured me.

"Dolly it is, then."

"Agent Benson is here to help us with our little problem." Smecker crossed his arms over his jacket. "While we couldn't make even the slightest headway into the pattern of our new friends' attacks, Agent Benson figured it out in a manner of hours. I'm sure she's going to be a huge asset to our team."

I saw the three detectives exchanging looks. I'm sure they were trying to figure out if I was on their side or not. Smecker seemed the type to keep them in the dark for his own amusement.

"From what we know," Duffy began, glancing at me briefly before looking to a file before him. "We're looking for a Romanian torture gang. We spent the last several hours searching through every archive we could get our hands on, but there are a ton of crime syndicates based in Romania. We have no way to know when we've got the right one."

Smecker looked directly at me. "What do you propose we do, Agent Benson?"

I resisted the urge to chew on my bottom lip, what I always did when I was nervous. He knew I wasn't really a member of the FBI. Hell, he knew I hadn't even finished college. Why was he putting so much on my shoulders? "Well," I finally said. "Why don't you show me what you've got and we'll go from there? I want to see every possible crime group you've unearthed."

So they set up a slideshow for me on the projector, pulling down a screen on the far wall and dimming the lights. I sat with my legs crossed, jiggling one of my very high heels and chewing the top of my pen, while they went through each slide. They were very well-informed about each of the groups they presented to me, but none of them jumped out at me as being the right one. I couldn't say why.

And then they reached a slide that made my heart stop. I dropped my pen.

Smecker, who had been watching me closely, allowed his feet to fall to floor with a thump as soon as my pen fell. "Naomi?" he said, catching the attention of everyone. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I couldn't really say at first. I squinted at the picture on the screen. It was only a picture of one man, his mug shot. He was a thin, short man with a pointed face and a grimace of an expression. His eyes were an alarmingly bright shade of blue, almost white in the black-and-white picture, but the thing that stood out most to me were the little round scars, angry-looking and puffy, that went in circles around his face.

"He's one of them," I said. I don't know why I said it, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were true.

Smecker frowned, but not because he didn't believe me. He frowned because he did. "Why? How do you know he's one of them?"

I pointed to the screen, getting to my feet. "Do you see those symmetrical points all across his visible skin? I'd bet anything the rest of him has those same scars. They're from a Crocodile Tube."

"What the fuck is a Crocodile Tube?" Greenly demanded, looking me up and down. I frowned at him. It seemed he had other things on his mind than the case.

Smecker's face was unreadable. "Another medieval torture device, I'm assuming?"

"Yeah." I frowned. "But this isn't just one you can carry around in a little bag. It's big enough to fit a grown man into. It's a serious piece of machinery. Like torture dungeon type of shit."

"Why would they torture one of their own?" Smecker wanted to know.

I paced back and forth, thinking. The clicking of my heels on the tiled floors was somehow calming. "In circles like this, with people who make torture their business, it's a sort of ritual. Like an initiation into their group. It's the mentality of if you can't take it, you're not worthy of dishing it."

"Makes some sort of sense," Dolly agreed, squinting at the picture on the screen too. "I mean, these people aren't exactly _normal_."

"This man was arrested?" I gestured to the picture, and they all nodded. "Was he a part of a crime syndicate before his arrest?"

Duffy rifled through some more papers, emerging triumphantly when he'd found the one he wanted. "Yes, he was. He was part of a group called Sang-ay Drag-oost?"

"_Sînge Dragoste_," I sighed heavily. "Loosely translated it means Blood Lust. Pull whatever information you can on this group. I'm pretty sure we've found them." They stared at me, so I clapped my hands at them. They jumped and scurried to do what I'd said.

Within minutes, I was alone with Smecker in the room. He looked alarmingly pleased. "Well, now. Aren't you something? You ever actually consider going into law enforcement? You'd make it far."

I laughed. "I haven't even finished college yet, Agent Smecker. And, with the way things are going now, it doesn't look like I'll be going back any time soon."

"That's a shame," he answered, never taking his eyes off me.

Smecker let me use his office to phone the boys while the detectives were eating lunch. I perched on the edge of his desk, pulling my skirt down over my knees, while it rang.

Murphy answered it. Just my luck. "Aye?"

"It's Mimi," I said, hoping my voice sounded normal. Even with all the events of the morning, I couldn't get our episode from earlier out of my head.

There was a pause. When he did speak, it was with the same forced casualness that I'd used. "Aye, how's it going?" he asked. "Having a good day down at the old precinct? Learned anything about the case?"

"Yeah." I lowered my voice, even though I was fairly sure the office was safe. "We've pretty much narrowed it down to a Romanian crime syndicate known as _Sînge Dragoste_. Like we thought, they're Romanian."

"_Sînge Dragoste_?" he repeated, losing that edge in his voice. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Blood Lust, more or less." I twirled the phone cord around my finger. "Dolly, Duffy, and Greenly are pulling everything they can on the group now. Hopefully I'll know more by tonight. I just wanted to keep you and Connor updated."

There was another brief pause, and I felt the tension mounting again. "Thanks," he said finally. "Let us know as soon as you find out anything else."

"Will do. Bye." I was almost relieved to hang up.

We reconvened after lunch, and the detectives brought all they had managed to dig up on the group. It wasn't a lot, I had to admit. There wasn't much to go on.

After hours of poring over material, we stumbled across a gold mine of information. It was an article from an independent Romanian newspaper, written just before the fall of communism there.

"Can anybody here read Romanian?" Duffy asked, squinting at the paper.

I leaned over his shoulder to read it. "It's definitely about the Blood Lust group," I said after some brief scanning. "Apparently they terrorized the major cities in Romania about eight or nine years ago. They were well-known for their interesting and creative ways of torturing victims. It was rumored that they had a torture chamber somewhere in the countryside near Bucharest, but it was never proven because none of their victims ever escaped."

"Anything else?" Smecker pressed.

I frowned. "They were reported to work alone for the most part. Of course they had underlings, but there were only four people who really had power. They called the shots. They were supposed to be untouchable."

More perusing. "Nobody really knows what they deal in, though people speculate that they mostly deal with drugs. They're also rumored to work as hired assassins. Torture is what they do for fun."

"So what happened to them?" Greenly asked.

"Our friend up on the slideshow got arrested, that's what happened." I handed the paper back to Duffy. "Now here's the real question: when was our friend arrested and is he still in jail now?"

"I'm on it," Dolly offered, heading for the computers.

"Good work today, Naomi," Smecker said, handing me a cup of coffee. "I really think you could pursue a career with the FBI."

I accepted the coffee, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Thanks, Agent Smecker."

The door opened and Dolly rejoined us, looking grim. "Our friend, by the name of Flaviu Tirlea, was arrested on March 28, 1989. He escaped from a high security prison in Bucharest five months ago."

Smecker nodded thoughtfully. "It makes perfect sense. After the Republic was established in Romania, they'd have a hard time getting up and running again. Now that their compatriot is out of prison, America must have seemed like the perfect place to start up a new enterprise. And they need the Saints out of their way before they can establish a standing here. Everything fits."

"So we've got four masterminds to look out for," Duffy muttered. "And we at least know what one of them looks like." He gestured to the mug shot of Tirlea.

"Two," I said without thinking. "We know what two of them look like."

Smecker slapped a hand to his forehead and the detectives all looked intrigued, curious. Then I remembered I was supposed to keep the fact that I knew the Saints to myself. "Sorry," I mumbled.

"It's alright," Smecker sighed. "You did well all day. I couldn't expect you to keep it up forever. You're a novice."

I frowned and crossed my arms over my blouse. "You don't have to be mean about it."

"Hold up. What the fuck is going on?" Greenly demanded.

"Naomi here-" Smecker began.

"Mimi," I interrupted. "Call me Mimi."

Smecker frowned again. "Naomi isn't really an FBI agent. But she _is_ the one who cracked the code. I sneaked her in here to help us out."

"So how'd she get involved in the case in the first place?" Greenly demanded. He directed his question to Smecker instead of me, but Smecker gestured for me to answer.

I shifted my weight uncertainly. "Well, it's sort of a long story. I'm sort of living with Connor and Murphy."

"Wow. An insider's point of view." Dolly winked at me. I think I liked him.

Smecker drove me home not much later. "Can you relay everything back to the brothers? Everything we figured out today?"

"Yes." I didn't appreciate being talked down to. I'd helped out this case a lot, after all. I bid Smecker a short farewell and headed up to the apartment.

I got in the elevator and sighed heavily, pressing the button for the fourth floor. Today had been so long. All I wanted was a hot shower and a good night's sleep. My thoughts flickered back to Murphy, as they seemed to do a lot these days. I wondered if things would still be awkward.

I used the key they'd given me to let myself in the front door. Even though they must have been expecting me home, they both started and nearly reached for their guns when I came in.

"Woah there, ponies." I rolled my eyes, locking the door behind me. "It's just me."

Connor scooted over on the sofa, leaving me room to sit between him and his brother. "Come have a seat, Mimi, and have something to eat. We got Chinese takeaway. Tell us what happened down at the precinct today."

I shrugged out of my coat and sat down. Murphy wouldn't meet my eyes; that was a bad sign. I tried not to let it get to me as I reached for the shrimp lo mein and a fresh pack of chopsticks. "We found out a lot of interesting stuff," I told them, slurping down some noodles.

"Like?" Murphy prompted, looking at the television intently so he didn't look at me.

It was ridiculous, really. "No, no," I told him coyly. "You have to actually look at me if you want answers."

He turned that exasperated half-smile on me, and I returned it with one that I felt was genuine. He was important to me; I didn't want him to be uncomfortable around me.

"That's better." I took another bite of noodles. "What we're facing here is the _Sînge Dragoste_, a torture-crazy quartet."

Connor, who had endured the exchange between me and Murphy complacently, spoke up now. "So there are four of them?"

"Right. There's the one you guys saw the other night, the one with the bad burn on his arm. And there's also this guy." I dug out the photograph of Tirlea. Smecker had made a photocopy for me before he'd taken me home. "As for the other two, I have no idea."

I related the history of the group and Tirlea's arrest and subsequent escape while the two studied the picture intently. "And these are some seriously sick people," I warned by way as a conclusion. "They've turned torture into an art. See those scars there?" I pointed to the picture with the tip of my chopsticks.

"Aye," Connor nodded.

"Those were made by a Crocodile Tube," I said matter-of-factly.

Murphy frowned at me. "What the fuck is a Crocodile Tube?"

"It's a medieval torture device. Not like the little ones our new friends used on their victims at their random little locations. No, this is a big piece of metal. Probably weighs a ton or more. It's insane to think that they'd have one. If they've got a Crocodile Tube," I added in a lower voice. "Then they've probably got other serious torture tools. I'm talking Judas Cradle, Spanish Donkey, and Brazen Bull type of stuff. These people mean business."

"What do they deal in?" Connor asked, refolding the photocopy of Tirlea's picture. "Arms? Humans? Contraband?"

I slurped another noodle up. "Smecker's not really sure, and I can't help out much with that. From an old article we read, they seemed to be into dealing drugs and it's possible they worked as hired assassins, but it's all just speculation. Even during the height of their power, people hardly knew anything about them."

"Fuck me," Murphy muttered, leaning back against the couch. "This just keeps getting more and more fucked up."

"Hey." I resisted the urge to put a hand on his arm. I wouldn't have hesitated before, but, after that morning, I wasn't sure where I stood with him anymore. "It could be worse. We seem to have the upper hand right now. We know where they're going to be and when they're going to be there. Plus, we know who they are, for the most part."

"Mimi's right." Connor clapped his brother on the shoulder behind my back. "And it's only Sunday. We've got until Friday. All we can do now is prepare."

**Alright, hopefully this was worth the wait! Please review for me!**


	15. This Is How a Heart Breaks

**Okay, everybody, you are, without a doubt hands-down the best reviewers in the entire world. Just so you know. I love you all so so much!**

**Belladonna925: who's to say how a guy's mind works? Mimi's age and his and Connor's vigilantism play a huge role in this, but it's also partially how he was raised (in my opinion lol). He just doesn't know how to deal with girls or relationships. **

**SaraLostInes: I'm glad you like the complexities of the story! Every once in a while I get in a mood where I want to read only one genre, but most of the time I like a hodge-podge of eclectic things so that's what my writing ends up as XD**

**Azaila Fox Knightling: omigosh you have to watch the movie. Like, right now. Like this instant. It is amazing. And yes, I've watched the deleted scenes. My favorite part about that one is that they're both naked XD**

**Valerie Mackin: I read a book once (or, more accurately, I TRIED to read a book) where the author went on for literally three pages (tiny print) about a flower. I vowed I would never do that (after I gave the book away haha). So I'm glad my details aren't reaching that DEAR-GOD-SHUT-UP phase yet haha**

**gurl3677: I think Murphy should give in to me. XD haha but yes he just needs to grow up a little**

**Lady Minuialwen: your wish is my command! Read on, though I can't promise any romance here...in fact, this chapter made me a little sad...**

Chapter Fifteen

This is How a Heart Breaks

This is it now

Everybody get down

This is all I can take

This is how a heart breaks

You take a hit now you feel it break down

Make you stay wide awake

This is how a heart breaks

-"This is How a Heart Breaks" - by Rob Thomas

I didn't go back to the precinct again; instead I went back to work at the boutique. It was almost impossible to focus on work, though. I didn't care about folding shirts or helping customers in the dressing room or putting sensors on the new stock they shipped to us every couple of weeks. There were only days until Connor and Murphy had to go back to the front lines of war.

"Hey, you okay, Mimi?"

I jerked out of my trance. It was Thursday, and I was standing behind the register. It was the middle of the afternoon, which was always a slow time for us. There were no customers in the store at all.

The girl addressing me was one of my coworkers, Katie. I hadn't liked her at first. She looked like her life was a twenty-four hour rave, with her bubblegum pink hair and ridiculous eye shadow, a different color every day. She wore short skirts over striped tights and more bangles than I knew how to count. But, after a couple weeks of working there, she somehow got in my good graces.

"I'm fine," I assured her, realizing I'd been slouching over the glass counter displaying the overly-priced body jewelry. "It's just been a long week."

"Tell me about it." Katie hopped up on the glass countertop and started eating her candy necklace. "This place blows." She got this excited look in her eye, running a piece of candy over her bright red lips. "You know, there's this awesome rave this weekend. Tickets are only five bucks if you're over twenty-one. You interested?"

It was difficult to hold back my bitter laugh. My entire life might be over by the weekend. "No thanks. Raves aren't really my thing," I answered instead.

We were silent for a moment, Katie on the counter eating her necklace and me leaning next to her, my thoughts anywhere but there. Finally she said, "What's bothering you, Mimi?"

Was I really that easy to read? "It's nothing," I lied shortly.

"Please. What is it? You can tell me," she urged. "It's boy troubles, isn't it? I can recognize the look in your eyes from a million miles away."

Well, that, at least, seemed a fairly safe topic. "Yeah, I guess so," I admitted.

"Well, now. Tell me all about it," Katie insisted. "I've put my listening ears on. Who knows? Maybe I'll even have some advice up my sleeve."

A faint smile touched my lips. "Well, there's this guy that I really like. And I think he likes me back."

"And why do you think he likes you back?" she interrupted. She really was listening intently.

I thought back, a slow blush creeping into my cheeks. "Well, he's kissed me a couple times and-"

"When you say a couple, what do you mean?" Katie demanded. "And what kind of kiss? Kisses on the cheek don't count."

"Well, there was the time at the... right before we got to be really good friends," I explained. "We were saying goodbye, and we thought it was for forever, and he kissed me on the lips. Just a little peck. And then, he and his brother took me out for my twenty-first birthday and we were really drunk and we had a full on make-out session."

I paused and frowned. "And then, just a few days ago, I was going somewhere and I kissed him goodbye. And he started to kiss me back and then he stopped and said he couldn't do it. And now I don't even know what to think."

"Hm. This is a serious predicament," Katie agreed, crunching loudly on her necklace. "Is he into some serious shit or something? Like drug dealer or whatnot?" I gave her a sharp look and she shrugged. "It's just, sometimes good guys get mixed up in bad shit. And, if that's the case, maybe he doesn't want you to get hurt."

"Maybe." It sounded plausible. I knew Murphy was a good guy at heart. Maybe my little chat with Katie hadn't been a waste after all. "Thanks."

"Hey!" snapped our manager, coming out of her back office. "Don't you girls have work to do? Get to it! I don't pay you to be social!"

I was supposed to work for most of the day on Friday, but I called out sick before my shift. It wasn't a lie, either. My stomach was in knots and I couldn't eat anything. In fact, I felt like crying.

As I watched my boys suit up, loading their guns and sheathing them in their holsters, I felt like I was seeing them for the last time.

"Don't fret, lass," Connor told me gently as they headed for the door. "We'll be just fine. That's a promise." I didn't mention that they hadn't been fine at all after their last encounter with these bastards.

I looked at Murphy fiercely. He finally met my gaze, and I saw raw emotion behind those clear eyes. "If you die, _either_ of you," I growled, poking them both in the chest. "I'll fucking kill you!"

They both chuckled. "We'll keep that in mind, love," Murphy murmured. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "I'd tell you to get some sleep but I know you won't fucking do it."

"Damn straight I won't!" I called after their retreating backs. Then I was alone in the apartment and I really thought that I was going to be alone for the rest of my life.

I threw myself down on the sofa, but I didn't let myself cry. I turned the television to the clearest station. It was showing reruns of 'I Dream of Genie.' Definitely not a show to keep my mind occupied.

So I went to the refrigerator and peered inside, looking for any sort of comfort food. I settled on a brand new jar of pickles and I sat on the couch and ate the entire damn jar. Then I took a shower and I painted my nails. When I glanced at the clock, it was only nine. I wondered if Connor and Murphy were even still alive.

I picked out a book from my tiny collection and it wasn't until I'd gotten to page fifty that I realized I hadn't retained anything. So I threw the book aside and I just sat, doing what I'd always done at the hospital: I counted.

It was maybe three in the morning when they finally got back home, both in one piece and, even though there was blood on their clothing, it didn't seem to belong to them. I was so relieved that I burst into tears right then and threw myself at them. Connor caught me and pressed his lips to the top of my head.

"We're all right, love. We're all right," he told me over and over.

Murphy poured me a shot of whiskey to calm my nerves and the three of us sat on the sofa. For once Murphy didn't seem concerned about our awkward relationship. Connor sat with his arm around my shoulders and Murphy held my free hand, even squeezing it occasionally.

When I had calmed down enough, I asked, "So what happened?"

Murphy grinned. "We got one of those mother fuckers."

"_And_ we saved the intended victims," Connor agreed, taking a little sip of whiskey himself. "Not to mention we got all the cronies."

"Only one?" I didn't mean to sound disappointed, but that meant there were still three out there. Three very dangerous individuals.

Murphy seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. "There was only one of them there. Even though there seems to be four of them running the operation, they work separately. Probably in case something like this happens. If they'd all been there, we could've taken out all four. Now we just got the one."

"Which one?" I set my empty glass on the coffee table, whose scuffed surface I had ceased to care about.

"The little weasel fucker you had a picture of," Connor answered. "Guess life out of prison didn't suit him too well."

I found myself laughing, too relieved to do much else. I was suddenly exhausted. How had I gotten myself into such a situation? I rested my head against Connor's shoulder and felt Murphy's reassuring grip on my hand, and the smile wouldn't go away. I loved them. I really did.

Murphy grinned suddenly and got to his feet. "I know it's been a long night, but I think it's time to celebrate."

His brother's grin matched his own. "There's a fresh bottle of tequila in the cabinet...?"

So we passed around the bottle liberally, getting drunker with each minute that passed. Even though I'd sworn off liquor after my birthday, I had to drink now. I was celebrating that my strange little family was still alive.

Connor was the first to pass out, draped over the arm of the couch, snoring loudly.

"Look at the mother fucker," Murphy grinned, draping his arm around my shoulder. "How the fuck does he always pass out so quickly?"

"Because he's drunk," I slurred, snuggling up to him and resting my head on his chest. If I hadn't been drunk too I would never have done it, but we were both very inebriated by this point. The sky was starting to get light outside the windows. I heard Murphy's heart hammering beneath his ribcage.

He let his head loll back against the couch cushion and he pulled me closer, grabbing one of my legs and swinging it over his lap. I was wearing a pair of cotton shorts, and he ran his hand from my knee up to the hemline of my shorts. I felt suddenly hot, with that uncomfortable ache between my legs. I shifted my weight.

"You should get some sleep," he suggested, still running his hand up and down my thigh. "Christ, tomorrow's going to fucking suck."

"Yeah, I should..." I agreed reluctantly, freeing my leg and struggling to stand up. I nearly toppled over, and he laughed and caught me, getting unsteadily to his own feet.

"Fuck, you're clumsy," he teased, cupping my face in his hands. He had that free grin on his face, the one that was untroubled by Romanian torturers and worries about me. It was my favorite smile of his. Then he crushed his mouth to mine, and he clearly had no intentions of releasing it.

We stumbled down the hallway, our hands never leaving the other's body, until we reached my bedroom. We tripped through the doorway and Murphy slammed me into the wall, closing the door with his bare foot.

Things got hot and heavy _fast_. His kisses were fierce and hungry. He kissed my lips and my jaw, down to my collarbone and my neck, where he sucked and nibbled, his breath short and hot. He pulled my tank top over my head and captured both my wrists against the wall above me, keeping me pinned to the wall with the hardness of his own body. His free hand ranged all over my body, massaging my breasts through the thin material of my cotton bra. He moved his mouth down lower to pay attention to my right breast.

He released my hands to pull his shirt over his head, leaving him bare chested, and then he was pressed against me again. I could feel how much he wanted me. His kisses became even needier then. He released my breasts from the confines of my bra and attacked them with his mouth, sucking and biting and leaving bright red marks all across them. Though I'd tried to keep silent, I couldn't keep a low moan from escaping my throat.

Murphy reached down to undo the button on his pants and I stopped him, taking his face in my hands and forcing him to look me straight in the eye. "I want this, Murphy. I want this more than anything, you know that. But if we have sex tonight and you aren't in this one hundred percent, I _will_ die. Do you understand that? I'm not some whore from down at the bar. I really care about you. I can't do this unless you mean it."

He sighed and looked away, resting his forehead against my collarbone.

After a long moment, during which we both caught our breath, he pulled away. He wouldn't meet my gaze. "You know, we're both drunk and it's already getting light outside. We should just... get some sleep." He reached for the shirt he'd thrown in the floor.

I grabbed my own shirt and covered my exposed chest with it, feeling both humiliated and self-conscious. As he was reaching for the doorknob, I asked, "Don't you like me, Murphy? Or is this all because you get drunk and horny? All the kisses and the lingering looks and the awkwardness? Are you really like that?"

"Of course I fucking like you," he growled, still refusing to look at me. "It's just fucking complicated."

"Everything is complicated," I answered coolly. "That's just life. I'm a big girl. I think I've proven I can take care of myself."

There was the briefest of pauses. "You don't know what you're trying to get yourself into, Mimi. Just forget about it." And then he was gone, leaving the door open the slightest crack.

I started blubbering as soon as I got in bed, leaving wet stains on my pillow. I tried to keep them quiet, but I was drunk and it was hard. Though I couldn't see him, I knew Murphy was sitting in the hallway, listening to me cry. Hours later, after I had cried myself out, I heard him get up and go to bed.

**Sad, right? Boys are stupid! **

**Please review! **


	16. If You Want Blood

**Okay guys, sorry it's taken me a bit to update. Dean has been sick, so I've been in ultra-mommy mode lately. Anyway, I'm back and I hope you all enjoy! As always, thanks for your wonderful reviews!**

**SaraLostInes: yep. It's true. Boys are stupid. And they're always stupid no matter how old they get. **

**Lady Minuialwen: sad indeed : (**

**Valerie Mackin: Oh yes. Mimi's strong side is about to come out.**

**gurl3677: haha Mimi's not that vindictive XD it would've been a really fun scene to write, though, if Mimi went on a date with someone else just to make Murphy jealous**

**Azalia Fox Knightling: the fact that she's already involved is why this whole situation is so frustrating. I can't imagine what I'd do if this was me. It would be terrible! But yeah, a scene where Murphy meets the boys' mother would be interesting. I didn't write it into this story, but I'm still working on the sequel, so maybe I'll squeeze it in there?**

**It's the Fear: thank you for your wonderful review! You said so many lovely things and just made my day! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!**

Chapter 16

If You Want Blood, You Got It

If you want blood, you got it

If you want blood, you got it

Blood on the streets

Blood on the rocks

Blood in the gutter

Every last drop

-"If You Want Blood You Got It" by AC/DC

I don't know how I slept, but I must have fallen asleep at some point, because it was nearly one in the afternoon when I woke up again. Even though my stomach was grumbling and I felt dirty and sweaty, I had no desire to get up. The thought of running into Murphy after the night before was enough to send me right back to St. Rose.

I rolled onto my side and glanced at the picture of Jamie. It made me angry, I realized. Murphy was worried about my safety, but I could go at any time. My sister had. She'd been on her way to work and _bam_. Didn't he understand that I worried about the two of them every time they went out on one of their stupid missions?

Another hour passed while I lay in bed, and eventually I got too hungry and had to get up. I pulled my bra on under my tank top and crept quietly down the hall. I _really_ didn't want to run into Murphy, the asshole. I felt nothing but anger when I thought about him now.

They weren't home. The living room and kitchen were empty, but there was a note taped to the refrigerator, written in Connor's messy handwriting. I ripped it off the fridge and skimmed it. So they'd gone to meet Smecker to talk about last night. That meant they probably wouldn't be home until much later.

After downing two bowls of Murphy's sugary cereal (Connor ate the stuff that was good for you), I went to take a shower. When I looked in the mirror I saw the red, angry love bites all across my chest. I felt ashamed and bitter looking at them. I quickly turned away and hoped they'd fade soon.

Because I wasn't entirely sure when the brothers would return, I holed myself up in my room to pass the day, which I'd had off from the boutique. It was boring as hell. At least in the living room I could watch boring daytime soap operas on the free channels. But I was too big a chicken to try and face Murphy. This time I couldn't pretend like nothing had happened. So I lay stretched out on my bed and tried to read one of my books, though my mind wandered between pages.

I heard them come home late that afternoon, when the October sun was already sinking behind the western horizon. I could hear them talking, moving things around, turning on the television. Any other night I would have gone out to greet them, ask them about their day. A fair amount of teasing would be involved. Somehow I felt those days had been ruined forever now.

It got darker and darker outside, and eventually I had to turn on the little bedside lamp I'd bought not long after getting my job at the boutique. I still didn't leave my room. I was beginning to think I'd really have to find a place of my own. I couldn't live with them anymore.

Then there was a light knock on my door. My heart started pounding immediately, but I forced my voice to be calm and said, "Come in."

Connor pushed open the door. He didn't come all the way in, just poked his head in. The boys had always respected my privacy like that, even if I'd invited them. Girly things like tampons and bras and tweezers seemed to make them very awkward. "Hey, Mimi," he said, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that Murphy had told him. "We made some dinner. Are you hungry?"

I wasn't but I figured refusing would only make me seem like a teenage drama queen, so I forced a little smile. The fact that Connor knew about my utter rejection was just the icing on the cake. "Sure. What'd you make?"

"Stew," he answered, almost sounding relieved that I was acting normal. Great. So that's what he _really_ thought of me. "It's the only thing we ever learned how to cook decently. Our Ma's recipe."

I marked my place in my book and got up, stretching. "Hope it's good. I'm starving."

It couldn't be that hard to act normal around Murphy, I told myself, following Connor down the narrow hallway. I just couldn't think about the hickeys or his bare, sweaty chest pressed against mine or our mouths moving together. No, I couldn't think about any of that.

Murphy was puttering around in the kitchen like a regular little homemaker, spooning three generous portions of steaming stew into three mismatched bowls. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like he was dreading this as much as I was.

I slipped into my chair at the table and accepted my bowl with a brief, "Thanks."

"Welcome," he muttered, turning away from me as quickly as he could.

Dinner was unbearable. Connor tried to make small talk with both Murphy and me, but he couldn't get the two of us to say more than two words to each other. For once I couldn't meet Murphy's eyes. I'm sure he couldn't look at me, either.

I cleaned up the dinner dishes while the boys sat on the sofa, drinking their beers and smoking their cigarettes. My thoughts were bitter as I stood there elbow-deep in soapy water at the sink, scrubbing the bowls and spoons. And then I listened to what they were saying.

"It's a done fucking deal," Connor was saying confidently. "In and out, like we're used to. The informant is infallible."

"He's a man, isn't he?" Murphy didn't sound quite as pleased. "Men are fallible. Don't be fucking stupid."

Connor rolled his eyes, tipping ashes into the ashtray on the coffee table. "Look, if we get in there and it's too heavy, we'll get the fuck out. We'll just be careful. But I'm telling you, if Smecker trusts this guy, then I do too. He's never steered us wrong yet, has he?"

I turned to look at them. "What's happened?" I demanded, unable to keep silent. "Did they find something else out about the case?"

There was a pause, and when it was clear Murphy wasn't going to say anything, Connor spoke up. "Aye. Smecker's got an informant who says what's left of _Sînge Dragoste_ are holing up in a ritzy hotel in Back Bay."

"And you're going after them?" Even if I was mad as hell at Murphy, and even Connor for knowing about what had happened between us, whenever I thought about them running off to fight bad guys I got this bad feeling in my gut.

"Aye," Connor repeated, reaching for his beer. "We're going to go tomorrow night. We're hoping to catch them when they're a little drunk. Drunk shooters are typically shitty shooters." There was that grin again, that cocky little grin. They must have thought they were indestructible. The multiple gunshot wounds must have been a long-forgotten memory by now.

Murphy finally looked at me and when his eyes met mine, they were horribly sad. I could tell he regretted the night before, though for what reasons I still didn't know for sure. "You okay, Mimi?" he asked softly. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," I answered, turning back to the sink and plunging my hands into the soapy water again. "I'm just fine."

As I lay in bed that night, inhaling the familiar scent of my grandmother's blanket and staring through the dark at the smiling photograph of my sister, I knew what I had to do. If Murphy was so worried about me getting hurt, I would just have to prove to him that I was as tough as they come. And I knew just how to do it, too.

**Ooh, what's Mimi getting herself into now? Haha this is where the action in this story begins. The next chapter shoulder be quite interesting XD**

**Please leave me wonderful reviews! I love you all! **


	17. Animal I Have Become

Okay so I've been trying to update for like forever, but my doc manager has been doing crazy things! It's still not fixed, so this might not be the most well-formatted chapter, but it's been messed up for so long that I'm going to take advantage of this brief pseudo-working moment now!

gurl3677: yes, sometimes he needs a good smack XD

Valerie Mackin: be surprised!

Lady Minuialwen: No more waiting!

Azalia Fox Knightling: Yeah, that's Mimi's whole point. Now that she's involved it's dangerous whether she's physically with them or not

SaraLostInes: bahahahaha your review made me laugh XD

nomanslandvicki: I'm happy you like the story so far! Keep reading!

pitbullsrok: yay! I'm glad you got caught up! And no more waiting! Here is what Mimi has up here sleeve!

Chapter 17

Animal I Have Become

So what if you can see the darkest side of me

No one will ever change this animal I have become

Help me believe it's not the real me

Somebody help me tame this animal

-"Animal I Have Become" by Three Days Grace

I worked an early shift at the boutique the next morning, so I was able to slip out of the apartment without saying much to either of the twins. Which was for the better, I knew. I was awful when it came to lying. Almost worse than them.

My shift was short since it was a Sunday, and I was able to duck out by noon with a new outfit in tow. I could have gone back to the apartment but I knew I couldn't face Connor and Murphy, so I steered my feet in the direction of one of the only non-Irish establishments in our neighborhood: Greene's Diner. It was an old fifties-style diner that still had a jukebox in the corner and they served the best milkshakes I'd yet found in Boston.

It was pretty crowded when I slipped in, what with all the religious nuts just getting out of church. The frazzled hostess told me it'd be a thirty to forty minute wait. For just one person. There wasn't even a seat at the bar.

I was about to tell her to forget putting me down on the waiting list when I heard my name from somewhere at the back of the crowded restaurant. When I squinted my eyes, I saw Joan waving at me from a little two-person booth.

I wove my way through the restaurant to reach her. She was alone, eating a cheeseburger and drinking a strawberry milkshake. She looked even prettier when I wasn't drunk.

"What are you doing down here by your lonesome?" she asked cheerfully, gesturing for me to take a seat opposite her.

I shrugged out of my coat and sat down. "I could ask you the same thing," I said instead of answering her question.

She chuckled. "What I meant was why aren't you with your bodyguards?"

I laughed bitterly. "They're not my bodyguards. They're just some assholes that I live with."

Joan let out a low whistle. "Whew, that sounds like a story. I've got time, if you want a listener."

I hesitated for a moment. It was one thing to tell a nearly perfect stranger that I'd made out with Murphy when we were both plastered and an entirely different thing to recount our nearly-sexual encounter. Then I shrugged. What the hell. I told her about all of us getting drunk and Connor passing out on the couch. Then, lowering my voice and blushing, I told her the rest. She stopped eating while I told her.

"Hot damn," she muttered, leaning back in her seat. "I mean, Murphy's always had commitment issues. Hell, they _both_ do. But to go that far... He must really care about you, Mimi."

I picked at the turkey burger I had ordered, suddenly feeling anything but hungry. "Why do you say that?"

She frowned, looking around furtively before she spoke. "You know, people in this neighborhood talk, Mimi. For the past seven or eight months, there's been a lot of talk." She looked at me meaningfully. "Connor and Murphy may be into some serious shit. I know Murphy; he'd never act this way with anyone else."

"I know he does it because he cares." I pushed my plate away. I couldn't eat; my stomach was in knots. "But it doesn't make me feel any better."

Joan reached across the table and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Just be patient, Mimi," she advised me. "This thing that they're doing - it has to end at some point. There has to be an end in sight."

I didn't answer. She didn't understand. There would never be an end to this. Even if they stopped their vigilante rampage, there would always be people after them. That I was willing to live with, if only Murphy would let me.

I bid Joan farewell and headed back to the apartment, knowing full-well what I had to do. It was my only choice, after all.

Though the boys were home when I got there, they left a few hours before dark to go meet with Smecker one last time before the big shootout that was supposed to take place that night. They bid me farewell with a 'keep out of trouble.' _Ha_, I thought to myself.

Night had just fallen when I slipped into their bedroom. They were probably due back within the hour, so I had to hurry. Since they no longer kept their guns hidden, they weren't hard to find. I selected a silver one with the long part at the end that I recognized as a silencer. That would play a crucial part in my plan. I made sure it was loaded, checked that I had extra ammunition, and I was ready to go.

My heart was pounding as I left the apartment, my tote bag slung negligently over one shoulder like I was some tween going to a slumber party. Nobody gave me a second glance as I took a seat at the back of the bus and looked out the window.

It was a forty minute bus ride to Back Bay, one of the nicer neighborhoods in Boston. I hadn't spent much time there before, having grown up in South End, but I had done my research. The boys were supposed to be hitting up the Fallbrook Hotel that night, and I was going to be there first.

I had to walk two blocks from the bus stop to the hotel, and I grew more and more nervous the closer I got. I knew I couldn't just walk up to the front desk and ask for the room number of a group of Romanians, so I slipped around to the service entrance. There were a couple of maids hanging out on the loading dock, smoking cigarettes. They didn't notice me in the darkness.

I waited until they headed back inside, then slipped through the open loading dock. From the loading dock I made my way into the laundry room, a cavernous chamber with more giant washing machines than I could count. And then I was in the main part of the hotel. I couldn't believe it had been so easy.

I kept my head down and slipped into the elevator, pressing the button from the top floor. I'd overheard Connor and Murphy discussing it earlier; the _Sînge Dragoste _were in the penthouse suite.

I changed into the clothes I'd brought while the elevator was moving, praying to whatever god might be there that nobody would get on. Thankfully I reached the top floor without any unwanted visitors.

Even though I was trying, I didn't really look like a hooker. I'd bought the tiniest minidress (Katie had helped me pick it out, probably thinking that I was trying to seduce my so-called boyfriend). The love bites on my chest had proven to be a difficulty; I'd tried covering them with makeup but they wouldn't entirely go away. Hell, it might even have enhanced the image I was trying to portray.

I tucked my bag over my arm, the gun I'd stolen hidden at the bottom beneath my jeans and sneakers. Then I planted myself in front of the door in my five-inch heels and knocked firmly.

The man who opened the door wasn't one of them; I could tell that as soon I saw him. This man had never been tortured before in his life. But he looked me up and down. "Well, well. What do we have here?" he leered.

Now was my chance. I spoke in Romanian. "_I'm sorry, I don't speak English_," I told him. "_I was sent here as entertainment_."

"Fuck, she's talking some other language," the man grumbled to someone I couldn't see.

"It's Romanian, you moron," said another voice, this one highly accented. He strode into view. It was the man with what Connor and Murphy had assumed was a burned arm. I knew better. The burn not only covered his arm but the entire side of his face, probably the entire side of his body. This man was one of them.

He looked me over and addressed me in his native tongue. "_What are you doing here_? _Who are you_?"

I looked at him through my mascara-coated lashes, trying my hardest to be sexy. I wasn't exactly a sexual person. Hell, I couldn't even get Murphy to sleep with me when he was drunk off his ass. "_I'm the entertainment_." I looked him up and down suggestively.

He pursed his lips in a sorry semblance of a smile. "_What do you know. Why don't you come in_?"

It felt like I was walking into a death trap as I stepped into the suite and the door shut behind me with a terrifying finality.

Though most of the men in the room were clearly just thugs like the one who'd answered the door, I finally saw the last two members of the _Sînge Dragoste. _The first was an older man, probably in his mid-to-late fifties, with gray hair and a pointed beard. He was as thin as a rake, with shrewd eyes and a polished cane. He was covered in scars, much like the man Connor and Murphy had already killed, though his were in a broader location. An Iron Maiden, then. The other was a woman, probably in her early thirties. She was deathly beautiful, with dark hair and dark eyes and creamy skin. She had the figure of a supermodel and the eyes of a demon. At first I couldn't see her scars, but when she half-turned I saw them: they were little points all over her back and the backs of her arms. An Iron Chair had been her torture. They were definitely the final two members.

"_And what do we have here_?" asked the man with the cane, his eyes lingering a little too long on my chest. I had to keep that slutty smile pasted on my face like I was used to being ogled like a piece of meat.

The burned man put a hand on my shoulder. It was heavy. "_Entertainment_."

Oh god. I was definitely in over my head. They could see right through me. They had to. How could I have thought my stupid little disguise and book-learned Romanian would get me through this?

But, much to my surprise, the woman picked up her bag, looking me up and down almost derisively. "_Have fun with your little pet_," she said in a voice that was as smooth as silk. For the briefest of moments, her gaze met mine. She terrified me. Then she turned to look at the man with the cane. "_Are you coming, old man_?"

He chuckled and got heavily to his feet; the sound was disgusting. "_I'm coming. You're such a pushy little thing, Ana_." With one last lingering look, the two were gone.

I chanced a glance around the room. There were only five thugs, besides the burned man. Maybe things were looking up. I didn't let myself relax, though, as I turned to the man with his hand on my shoulder.

"_Is there a bedroom, handsome_?" I drawled in Romanian, touching him lightly on the chest. It was as hard as Murphy's. Even though this guy was a lot bigger, he was all muscle. That was daunting.

He didn't answer, just steered me towards a door at the back of the suite. It was by far the nicest hotel room I'd ever seen before. If I hadn't been in a life-or-death situation, I would have admired it. As it was, I only had time to take in the lush drapes and the giant television set before the burned man slammed the door and pushed me down on the bed.

"_Oh, so you like it rough_?" I asked, wondering if that was the sort of thing a hooker would say. I'd never seen a real prostitute before, only in movies. And movies, as I well knew, weren't always to be believed.

He crouched over me, leering. "_Rough is my specialty_," he informed me. I couldn't help thinking how cheesy this guy was. I thought only bad guys in movies talked like that.

"_You're in luck_," I found myself saying, putting a finger to his lips. "_Rough is my specialty, too. Now, if you're up for it, I've got a little special something for you_."

His eyes lit up like it was porn Christmas or something. I took that as a yes.

"_Just close your eyes_," I told him. He did so, kneeling in front of the bed. When I was sure his eyes were closed, I pulled out the gun. I didn't want to shoot him yet, though. I was saving him for when Connor and Murphy arrived, which wouldn't be long once they discovered their missing gun. They'd know it was me who took it right away. So I lifted my hand and hit him as hard as I could with the butt of the gun. He let out a grunt, but I had to hit him twice more before he actually went unconscious.

Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I pulled the rope out of my bag and bound his hands and feet, using the knots Jamie had taught me from her days as a girl scout counselor. Then I shoved a gag into his mouth, just in case he woke up before I was done. Then I searched him in case he had a pager or something he could use to communicate with the two that had just left.

When I was confident he wasn't going anywhere, I opened the door just the tiniest crack. The thugs were milling around the bar at the opposite end of the suite's living room, drinking and having a good time. They weren't paying attention to me at all. In fact, they seemed more at ease once the burned man was no longer hovering around them.

I slipped off my shoes and quietly tiptoed across the narrow space between the bedroom door and the sofa, holding my breath. They didn't notice me, and then I was safely hidden behind the couch, the gun clutched tightly in my hand.

I took a deep breath and checked the safety on the gun. I was really going to do this. I was completely crazy.

But now I was in the thick of it and I had no other choice. If I didn't take them out, they'd kill me. I leaned over the couch and fired. I only remembered to look afterwards, right before I ducked back down behind my makeshift blockade. My first round of shots had hit four of them, three critically. When they'd finished firing back at me, I released another round at them. And they were dead. It was much easier than I'd thought.

I tried not to look at the quickly-puddling blood as I dragged the burned man out of the bedroom and into the living room. He was quite heavy. I was sweating, my breasts threatening to fall right out of the minidress's tiny confines, but eventually I got him where I wanted.

He came to not much later, though he seemed disoriented. He started yelling curse words at me in Romanian, most of which I couldn't quite understand. I only knew that I was frightened and I was ready to get this plan over and done with.

The door was kicked in a few minutes later, and there they were. My saviors. They were dressed in their typical jeans, black shirts, and black peacoats. They had black masks over their faces, but of course I could recognize them no matter what they were wearing. There was a brief pause during which they took in the damage.

"What the _fuck_, Mimi?" Murphy shouted, ripping his mask off. I'd never seen him quite as angry before. "Just what the _fuck_?"

Connor took his mask off more slowly. He seemed almost in shock.

"I thought you'd be pleased," I answered coolly, tapping the burned man with the barrel of the gun I'd stolen. "Not only did I save you the trouble of getting rid of those idiots," I gestured to the mess of slaughtered bodies by the bar. "But I'm presenting you one of the _Sînge Dragoste _on a silver platter. A little thank you would be nice."

"Thank you?" Murphy repeated. He was practically screaming at me; I'd never seen him angrier. I'd never even imagined he could get so angry. "_Thank you_?"

"Look, we can do this fucking later," Connor interrupted shortly, shooting me a dark look. Damn. I was in serious trouble. "Let's take care of this fucker and get the fuck out of here. All right?"

Murphy didn't answer, fuming silently, but he stepped up to take his place beside his brother. They put the barrels of their guns against the back of the burned man's head. I turned my face so I couldn't see.

"And shepherds we shall be for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand. Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command," they chanted in unison, in deep, steady voices that chilled me to my core. "So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri Et Fili Spiritus Sancti." Two quick shots and the burned man was dead.

Murphy glanced at me fiercely, snatching the gun right out of my hand. He looked like he wanted to hit something. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he growled.

Nobody said anything until we were in the Avenger, speeding our way back to South Boston and the safety of our apartment.

Finally Murphy broke the silence. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"I was proving myself," I said shortly, crossing my arms over my chest. Even though I was wearing my coat, I hadn't had time to change back into my normal clothes and the minidress didn't cover much and it was freezing. "You said I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Well I think I've proven that I know perfectly well what I'm getting into, _and_ that I'm perfectly capable of dealing with it. _And_," I added, raising my voice. "I found out who the two remaining members of _Sînge Dragoste _are. So, like I said before, a thank you would be nice."

They exchanged a long look and Murphy heaved a heavy sigh, but they didn't say anything else and we finished the ride in silence. The crumbling old tenement had never looked so inviting as it did now.

As soon as we reached the apartment I stomped down the hall and slammed the door to my bedroom behind me, feeling both childish and very adult at the same time. I couldn't believe I'd gone through all that and he still wasn't going to believe I could take care of myself. I'm pretty sure not many twenty-one year old girls could say they had helped a pair of vigilantes take down a Romanian torture crew.

I hadn't been in my room for a few seconds, silently, fuming, when Murphy opened the door without bothering to knock.

"What do you want?" I demanded scathingly, reaching down to unbuckle one of my heels. My feet were killing me; I really should have worn more comfortable shoes for a shootout.

He sighed, leaning against the doorway. "You win," he finally said, and I stopped fiddling with my shoe.

"What?" I had lost the edge in my voice.

Murphy ran his fingers through his hair and turned his intense eyes on me. "You fucking win, okay? You've proven that you can take care of yourself and I don't need to worry about you. I fucking get it."

There was a pause during which neither of us spoke or moved or hardly breathed. "So what does this mean?" I finally asked.

"I don't fucking know." He rubbed his eyes wearily, looking away. "I've never really done the relationship thing before. I don't fucking know how it works."

_Relationship_? I could hardly believe that word had just come out of his mouth. He looked up at me again, and I saw the seriousness in his face. "I-I guess we can just take it slow and see how things go?" I suggested.

He smiled, a real smile even though it was tired. "I think I'd like that." He closed the distance between us and kissed me. Unlike most of our other kisses, which had been fierce and drunk and needy, this was soft and sensual and sweet. I put my arms around his neck tentatively and he drew me to him, caressing my loose hair with his hand. Then he pulled away and, with one last sweet kiss on the lips, he left me alone.

bahhh I hate this messed up doc manager! I really hope they get it fixed soon, because everything is all centered now and it took away all my paragraphs so I had to go back in an manually separate paragraphs. Blah. Anyway, hopefully they'll fix it soon and I can update again much more quickly! As always, please review!


	18. Fallin' For You

**Okay, I've been having serious trouble with my doc manager on here. It's really been putting me off, but I decided that I was gonna push through the mess tonight because I really wanted to update this. Is anyone else having issues with their doc manager? **

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****Chapter 18

Fallin' For You

I've been spending all my time

Just thinking about you

I don't know what to do

I think I'm falling for you

I've been waiting all my life

And now I found you

I don't know what to do

I think I'm falling for you

-"Fallin' For You" by Colbie Caillat

I was the first to get up the next morning; both boys had probably stayed up late drinking again. I showered and got dressed and was in the process of making pancakes when they stumbled out of their bedroom, bleary-eyed and more than likely hungover.

"Morning, Mimi," Connor muttered, reaching into the refrigerator for a beer. It was his usual drink with breakfast.

"Morning," I answered over my shoulder, flipping a pancake.

Murphy didn't speak to me, but, when his brother was occupied with the fridge, gave me a quick kiss on the lips. I felt that blush all the way to my toes. So it hadn't been a dream after all. He was really giving us a chance. When he saw me smiling, he returned it, chucking me under the chin and giving me one more kiss.

There were a lot of little things that changed. When the three of us sat on the sofa to search for the news report about the killing the night before, he took my hand even though Connor was sitting right on the other side of me. When the two of them left to meet Smecker, he kissed me goodbye.

I had to tell someone. My choices were either Katie or Joan, and I knew I couldn't tell Katie any more than I already had. I didn't want to get her involved. So I dug out Joan's phone number, which she had given to me after our chance meeting at the diner the day before, and I called her.

"Hey, Mimi," she said when she answered. "What's up? Any headway on the Murphy situation?"

I twirled the phone cord around my index finger. "Actually, yes. Quite a lot. Want to come over for a drink?"

"You bet your little ass I do." I loved her enthusiasm. "Are they still at that two bedroom place off Maple?"

"Yep."

"I'll be there in like ten minutes."

True to her word, there was a knock at the door ten minutes later. I opened the door and invited her in, grabbing two beers from the twins' stash at the back of the refrigerator. We settled at the kitchen table with our beers.

"Okay, so tell me what happened," Joan demanded.

So I launched into my story, leaving out just a few of the details. I didn't tell her that anyone had been killed, simply that I had helped the boys out with their little 'job' to prove that I could take care of myself.

Joan knew anyway, though. Of course. "Wasn't that really dangerous?" she asked, frowning. "I mean, I know I don't know all the details, but wasn't that a stupid thing to do?"

"Probably," I agreed, playing with the rim of my beer. "But I had to do something. I couldn't live here anymore with that awful tension."

Joan leaned forward. "So what happened after that?"

"He told me that he understood now that I could take care of myself but that he wasn't really experienced with relationships," I continued eagerly. "We agreed that we'd work on it together."

She let out a relieved laugh. "Damn. Now if only Connor could be so open-minded."

"I thought you were over him."

She shrugged. "Does one ever really get over their first love? But whatever. It's all in the past now."

That's when the door opened and the boys came traipsing back in, shrugging out of their coats. They hesitated when they saw Joan sitting at their kitchen table.

"Welcome back," I said cheerfully, worried I had overstepped my boundaries by inviting someone over. "Joan just stopped by for a beer."

Connor nodded at her, hanging his coat up. "Nice to see you again, Joan."

"You too." Her smile looked forced to me. "Why don't you lads grab a beer and join us?"

So Murphy grabbed two beers, tossed one to his brother, and they came and sat down at the table. There were only three chairs, so Murphy gestured for me to get up and I sat in his lap. In front of Connor and Joan. I felt suddenly warm and I couldn't keep the smile from my face even as I tried to look mature.

"You lads been keeping busy?" Joan asked archly, taking a long sip of her beer. "We haven't seen much of you down at McGinty's lately. Everyone's been asking about you."

Connor ducked his head briefly. "Aye, work is a bitch these days."

Murphy leaned back in his chair, his free hand on my hip. He rubbed gently with his thumb, pushing my shirt up just the slightest bit so he could touch bare skin. Even though it was just his thumb against my hip, I felt that warmth between my legs again. "We should try and get to the pub more often. I could use a chance to unwind a little." The rubbing against my hip grew more pronounced.

"Well, hopefully I'll see you boys down there tonight," Joan said, getting to her feet and throwing away her empty beer can. "I can't keep the whole neighborhood entertained on my own. I'll see you lot later. Bye Mimi."

"Bye," I called as she let herself out. I noticed Connor's gaze following her fairly closely until the door shut.

He turned to Murphy and I, still sharing the same chair. "Well, what do you think? Should we hit up the pub tonight? Celebrate our victory over the burned man in style?"

"Hell yeah," I grinned, leaning back into Murphy's embrace. His arms tightened around me protectively.

It was nearly ten o'clock by the time we left the tenement and headed for McGinty's that night, Murphy clutching my hand. "So, you excited to see Joan?" I couldn't help but ask.

Connor looked at me like I was crazy for a second. "Of course not. Why? Did she say something to you?"

I loved how flustered he got. "No, I just noticed you couldn't keep your eyes off her when she was over at our place this morning."

"You need to get your eyes fucking checked, Mimi," he replied, but I could tell I had made him uneasy. Murphy and I exchanged knowing looks and I fought to keep my smile under control. He gave my hand a little squeeze.

The pub was crowded when we arrived, even though it was only a Monday. Though no one said anything, I saw an awful lot of eyes lingering on mine and Murphy's hands. I guess they, like Joan, knew the boys' reputation of being anti-relationship. We found Joan already seated at the bar, talking in low voices with a blond in a miniskirt, and we took the bar stools next to them.

"Hey, Mimi." Joan turned her bright, sultry smile on me. Her eyes flickered briefly to Connor and Murphy. "Boys."

"Joan," they replied in unison, then Connor turned to Doc to order drinks for the three of us.

It wasn't long before the blond to Joan's left said goodbye and she turned and joined our little group. Eventually it got loud enough that we moved to one of the booths towards the back, where it was a little quieter. I, of course, sat with Murphy, leaving Joan to sit beside Connor. Beneath the table, Murphy put his hand on my knee. I felt the heat radiating from him through my jeans.

"It feels like it's been forever since we last talked," Joan said, sipping at her bottle of Guinness and looking right at Connor. "How have things been?"

Connor returned the steady look. "They've been fine, I suppose. A little more hectic than usual, but, you know."

"Aye, I do," she laughed. "Things just seem to get that way sometimes. Do you remember a couple years ago, when I worked at the pet spa place down towards South End? I never got a second to myself then!"

He laughed too. "Aye, you were always covered in dog hair and smelled like baby soap. I do indeed remember that."

I was feeling horribly left out with their reminiscing, and Murphy must have sensed that. He was very aware when he wanted to be, which, I was learning, wasn't often. He leaned over and spoke softly into my ear, his breath hot on my neck. "Want to go get some fresh air?"

"Sure," I agreed, and we started to slide out of the booth.

Even though he'd clearly been having a good time chatting with Joan, Connor suddenly looked alarmed at being left alone with her. "And where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"It's hot in here, so we're going to go take a breather," Murphy told his brother with a look that I couldn't possibly begin to decipher. I think it was a twin thing. "We'll be back in a bit."

He took my hand and led the way through the crowd towards the front doors, where we shrugged into our coats and went out into the cold October air. He immediately lit a cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling into the night.

"That's going to kill you one of these days," I found myself saying, shoving my hands deep into the pocket of my coat.

He shrugged, the tip of the cigarette like a beacon in the darkness. "I'm sure something else will kill me first." Then he grimaced and turned an apologetic smile on me. "Sorry. That wasn't the brightest thing I've ever said."

"I'll say," I agreed, but I liked this openness we now seemed to have. It was a lot better than all the wondering, that was for sure.

He finished his cigarette and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot, then he turned to me and, taking my face in both hands, pressed his lips to mine. I could taste the nicotine and alcohol on his breath, but there was nothing in the world that would have made me turn my face away.

Using his own body, he pressed me against the brick exterior of the pub. As he moved his lips from mine, attacking my neck and collarbone fiercely, he used his knee to spread my legs. I let out a low moan; there was no stopping it. We were a freight train and everybody just better get out of the way, I thought.

He finally broke away from me, pulling his hands from the inside of my coat where they'd been exploring. "Let's go home," he suggested in a low, breathy voice that sent a tingle up my spine. "Wait here. I'll go get Connor."

I let out my breath explosively as soon as he'd gone back into the pub, my entire body aching. It had been a long time since I had wanted anybody like I wanted Murphy. If only we could finally do this, I felt things could only get better for us.

He returned a moment later, alone.

"Where's Connor?" I asked as he slipped an arm around my waist and steered me in the direction of our apartment a few blocks away.

He shrugged, giving me a knowing sideways look. "He said he was going to stay. He and Joan seemed to be having an awful good time."

"Oh, were they now?" I could suppress a laugh. "I thought Connor didn't like Joan."

"He didn't before," Murphy agreed, pulling me closer. I loved the way our bodies fit together so well. "She asked him out once and he flat-out turned her down. Never understood why, either. She's a pretty girl." I gave him a sharp look. "Not as pretty as you, of course," he amended.

I smiled contentedly. "So what changed? Why does he like her now?"

"No fucking clue," Murphy answered. "But what the hell? Joan's a nice girl. I hope she makes him very happy."

I didn't answer. I hoped I made Murphy very happy.

We reached the apartment in a tizzy of anticipation. Even though it had just been his arm around me on the walk home, I couldn't keep my thoughts far from a lot more of our bodies touching. And I wasn't disappointed, either. As soon as the door had locked behind us, we were attached at the lips, ripping off each other's coats like zombies in a feeding frenzy.

He didn't hesitate at all, lifting me right up off the floor and carrying me towards my bedroom. I wrapped my legs around his narrow waist and my arms around his neck, pressing myself to him as hard as I could. I didn't care if it was embarrassing; I needed this too much.

Murphy closed the bedroom door with the heel of his foot and carried me over to the bed. He dropped me onto the mattress and crawled on top, using his hands and knees to support his weight. He ripped my shirt off almost at once; I was glad I was wearing my favorite bra, the cute one with the pretty stars all over it. Not that he cared much about it. His hands expertly unhooked the clasp at the back and it was discarded too.

I clawed at his shirt desperately until he helped me take it off, revealing that smooth, muscular chest with the delicious tattoo across one side. As he kissed me, rubbing his erection against my thigh through the stiff material of our jeans, I allowed my hands to wander all over the hard muscle.

Then he was undoing the button and zipper on my jeans and ripping them off. It was a bit of a chore, as they were fairly tight. And then I was wearing nothing but my little pink panties with the little bow on the waistband. They felt suddenly childish.

My own hands fumbled with the button on his jeans. Even though my hands were smaller, they were clumsy and trembling. Eventually I got them undone and, with his help, they were discarded too. The only thing between us now was the thin material of our underpants, though they weren't doing much to suppress his throbbing erection.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and ripped them off in one fluid motion, removing his boxers in almost the same movement. He broke our kiss and, grabbing a fistful of my hair, forced my head back against the pillow. His eyes, so bright in the darkness of my bedroom, locked fiercely on mine. When he made sure I was focused only on him, he thrust into me with one swift jab.

I let out a startled cry. It had been a long time since I'd been intimate with anyone, and I was so very tight. But the muscles relaxed as he started to thrust in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, never breaking eye contact. I didn't look away either; it made it better somehow.

Once he saw that I was no longer in pain, he set a fast pace and stuck to it. Sometimes he kissed me and sometimes he just stared. I had no idea what he was thinking. His movements became more erratic the closer we got to our climaxes and, even though his steady gaze never left my eyes, I could tell he was losing control.

I came first, finally breaking eye contact and arching my back, unable to suppress the wild animal howl that sprung to my lips. The orgasm was like nothing I had ever experienced before, a catharsis of frustration and lust pent-up for who knows how long. There was nothing I could do but ride it out.

When he saw me thrust my breasts into his face and felt my walls clenching around him, he came too, never making a sound other than his heavy breathing. Then he collapsed on top of me, exhausted, sweaty. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his face into my neck. I felt his warm breath as it slowly steadied and his heart rate returned to normal.

Neither of us said anything as we lay there in the dark, arms entangled around one another, the sweat drying on our exposed skin. Eventually I fell asleep, smelling his familiar, comforting scent.

**Mm. It's about damn time. Please review XD**

**On another note, my baby will be two next month! How crazy is that? I can't believe how big he's gotten! We're planning a Yo Gabba Gabba party XD**


	19. A Favor House Atlantic

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Chapter 19

A Favor House Atlantic

Run quick, they're behind us

Didn't think we'd ever make it

This close to safety in one piece

Now you wanna kill me in the act of what could maybe

Save us from sleep and what we are

-"A Favor House Atlantic" by Coheed and Cambria

It was already light when I woke up the next morning, the bright sunlight streaming through my closed blinds to cast strange, slatted shadows on the worn wooden floor. I felt Murphy's face pressed against my back, felt his warm breath on my bare skin. I smiled as I pulled his arms closer around me. A month ago I'd never have imagined this was possible.

I lay there for a few minutes longer, reveling in the warmth of his body. Then I had no choice but to check the time. It was already a quarter after nine; I had to be at the boutique for my shift at ten. Reluctantly I disentangled myself from Murphy and crawled out of bed.

"Where are you going?" he mumbled sleepily, rolling onto his back and stretching.

I slipped on a clean pair of panties. "I've got to go to work," I explained, rifling through my discarded clothes for my favorite everyday bra. "At least one person living here ought to have a legitimate job, don't you think?"

He chuckled, watching me fast the bra around my waist and slide it up over my breasts. "You should call in sick," he told me. "Just get undressed and come back to bed."

"Ha ha." I rolled my eyes, getting dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a loose brown peasant top with a wide belt. "Good try, but no thanks. I've got to go."

"Well, fuck," he grumbled, getting up and reaching for his pants.

I grabbed my hairbrush and peered closely into the streaky little mirror I'd hung on the wall. I didn't have enough time to take a shower, so I just brushed my hair up into a messy ponytail. My manager, who insisted we always come to work casual-chic, would just have to get over it.

"So what are you and Connor going to do today?" I asked, snapping the elastic round my blond hair and looking for the brown heeled boots I wanted to wear.

He shrugged, pulling his soft cotton t-shirt over his head. "I don't know. Probably see if we can track down what's left of the _Sînge Dragoste_. The old man and the woman."

"Her name was Ana," I reminded him. "That's what someone called her."

"Aye, that'll be a useful lead," he admitted. I could tell he didn't want to; he was still pretty peeved at me for rushing into that particular situation. On reflection, I realized it had been a dumb move but I couldn't bring myself to regret it because of where it had gotten me.

After I had brushed my teeth and grabbed my brown suede handbag, we headed into the kitchen. Connor was already up, rifling through the refrigerator for his morning beer. Mine and Murphy's coats and shoes were still lying in the floor where we had ripped them off one another the night before.

"Morning," Murphy said casually, going to the cabinet for a bowl.

The look Connor gave him was not happy. "Morning. Pick up your shit next time you want to have a wild fucking romp."

Murphy let out a low whistle. "Looks like somebody got shut down last night. So I take it you asked Joan out and she turned you down? _Again_."

"Wait, you asked Joan out?" I repeated.

His brother grinned. "Aye. He asks her out all the time and she says no every time. It's like the more she says no, the more he wants her."

"Fuck you." Connor slammed the refrigerator door shut.

I picked up my coat and dusted it off. "I thought she asked you out and you turned _her_ down."

"She did, about a year ago," Connor admitted. "I said no because I thought of her more as a friend. Then, of course, she was all I could think about. But nothing I do will make her change her mind now."

I thoughtfully shrugged into my coat, doing up the buttons. "Interesting. She did say that your ship had sailed."

"So you _do_ talk about me." He said it darkly, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

"Maybe," I trilled in a sing-song voice. "Oops, I'm going to be late. See you guys later." I kissed Murphy goodbye and headed out.

Though the boutique was always slammed on the weekends, there were never very many customers on weekday mornings, so I spent the majority of my morning refolding stacks of already neat blouses. Then I meandered over to the cash wrap to spray down the glass display case with Windex. At least it was something to do.

Katie was working the morning shift with me and, even though she was supposed to stay in the dressing room area, she found her way up to the counter with me. We didn't have any customers anyway.

"So you look happy today," she grinned, smoothing down her lime green miniskirt and orange-striped leggings. "What's got you all made up?"

I debated whether to tell her or not, but then I couldn't resist. "Well, you know that guy I was telling you about? The one that I wasn't sure liked me?"

"Of course." She popped her gum. "Did something happen?"

"I'll say." I grinned stupidly. I knew Katie wouldn't judge me because she changed sexual partners on a weekly basis.

Indeed, she smiled almost as broadly as I did. "Damn, Mimi! That's awesome! Was he any good?"

"Great-" I began, but my voice stopped somewhere in my throat. Coming up the sidewalk outside the boutique's windows with long, loping strides was none other than the creamy-skinned, dark-haired Romanian woman from the _Sînge Dragoste_. She was wearing large aviator sunglasses and a fashion scarf wrapped around her thin neck, but there was no mistaking her.

I let out a frantic squeak and dropped to the floor behind the counter, scooting all the way back so that I couldn't be seen through the glass display case. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it was going to break my ribcage.

Katie peered down at me, her mouth open in a little "o" of surprise. "Mimi? What the hell are you doing?"

"Pretend I'm not here!" I begged, putting a finger to my lips. "Please, just pretend!" Then the bell above the door tinkled and I clapped my hand over my mouth, willing myself to stop breathing, just until the woman left.

Katie, being the good friend that she was, turned to the woman with her big I'm-here-to-help-you smile. "Good morning!" she called cheerfully. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I'm looking for a girl," Ana said in a heavy accent. "She's about five foot five, blond hair and gray eyes. Have you seen her?"

"Sorry, ma'am. That description could fit any number of people in South Boston alone," Katie replied.

"This girl works here," Ana sneered.

Katie pretended to think about it. "Actually, you know, there was this girl who worked here that was about that description. She quit a couple of days ago, though. I don't know where she went. Why are you looking for her?"

The next thing I knew there was a loud, echoing bang and Katie collapsed on the floor, a bullet in her forehead. Her eyes, wide and lifeless, were staring at me helplessly. I pressed my hand tighter over my mouth, trying not to scream. I stared in horror at Katie, poor innocent Katie, as the puddle of blood beneath her grew larger and larger. I tried to keep myself out of the blood, but I was already pressed against the counter and there was nowhere else I could go without drawing attention to myself. The blood started soaking into my jeans, staining the entire underside of one leg red. I struggled not to vomit.

There was a crash from the back of the store, where the manager's office was located. Oh god no, I thought. Just stay in your office!

"Hey, what the hell is going on out here?" the manager demanded, storming from the back like she always did.

There was another gunshot and a loud thump as the manager went down, taking down an entire rack of clothes with her by the sound of it. I squeezed my eyes shut. Somehow my cheeks were wet.

And then Ana's arm was reaching over the counter like a pale snake. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me up and over. I let out a wild scream, kicking, thrashing. She had a good hold of my hair, pulling me by nothing else; she was stronger than she looked. My booted foot caught the glass countertop and it shattered, but Ana didn't release me.

"_Ah, so there you are, little pet_." She spoke to me in Romanian, putting her face right up close to mine. Even though she must have been at least thirty, probably older, her face was clear and flawless. She was stunningly beautiful and she terrified me.

"Let me go!" I wailed, thrashing and clawing and kicking. "What are you doing? What do you want with me?"

"_Don't play so innocent_," she barked, her eyes narrowing. They were almost black against the paleness of her skin. "_You, my little pet, were the last one to see my brother alive. I should have known you weren't a prostitute. Whores at least have something to offer_."

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but her hand flashed out like a cobra and that's the last thing I remembered.

**Mm, dark. I was sort of sad to kill Katie. I rather liked her (I have a lot of friends like her XD). Ah well, all for the sake of story progression. I warn you now that the story is going to continue to get darker, and probably isn't for the faint of heart. I hope this doesn't discourage anyone from reading further!**

**So my son turned two this past Saturday. I can't believe he's so old already! We had a birthday party for him so my house was full of screaming toddlers all day. What a mess! After everyone had gone he turned to me and said, "Mommy, I want a party tomorrow too." I left it up to Daddy to explain that birthdays only happen once a year XD. **

**Now that Dean is two, we've decided we really have to knuckle down about potty training. We've just sort of half-assed it so far, but now that he's two we figured we ought to be more serious about it. Anyone gone through potty training before? Any tips?**

**Please review! I love you all! **


	20. Hysteria

**Okay, here's the next chapter! I can't believe how far into this story we are! I'm going to be super sad when it ends! As a reminder, this story is going to get darker. A lot darker. I apologize but it's the way the story went. I hope you all enjoy even the darker chapters. **

**Azalia Fox Knightling: yeah I was pretty sad for Katie. But in reality (if BDS could be considered realistic at all lol) there would probably be some collateral damage. **

**SaraLostInes: you are not wrong, my friend. The torture devices do indeed make an appearance. If my descriptions are inadequate, please feel free to google image them. **

**gurl3677: another update!**

**Valerie Mackin: Yeah, these people aren't stupid so it was bound to happen. I'm glad the cliffhanger was good!**

**blueangelsvntn: thank you! I try really hard to keep my characters true XD**

**FallenStar92: no more waiting!**

**Sierra: thank you so much! I'm glad my writing keeps you on the edge of your seat XD**

**Fierce Lady: I'm happy you like where this is going! I hope you still like it once it gets there lol**

Chapter 20

Hysteria

Yeah it's holding me, morphing me

And forcing me to strive

To be endlessly

Cold within

And dreaming I'm alive

-"Hysteria" by Muse

My sense of smell returned to me before my sense of sight did. I smelled something awful, like sizzling meat. The smell of blood was strong, and my stomach churned. I wanted to vomit.

When I finally managed to open my eyes, I was lying on the stone floor of some sort of underground chamber. It was lit by sconces on the walls and a large hearth against one wall. All sorts of large wood and iron apparatus sat about, most of them stained with things I didn't want to know about. It was like being in Dracula's castle, only this was real. I was in a real live torture chamber.

We had to have still been in Boston. Even though my hands were bound tightly behind my back, limiting all movement, the blood streaming into my eyes from the cut on my head where Ana had hit me was fresh, so I hadn't been out long. I looked around the room with wide, terrified eyes. I was really going to die.

There was the sound of clicking heels outside the door and Ana came in, wearing her pressed slacks and designer heels. She looked like a model. I was reminded suddenly of Dr. Mendoza and I wished I was back at St. Rose.

Ana strode over to me, her heels making those resounding clicks that echoed off the stone floor and walls. She had this awful leer on her face, like she wanted to drink my blood or something. All I could do was stare up at her, horrified.

"_So, you're awake_," she drawled in Romanian, lifting her foot and giving me a hard kick in the side. I let out a cry, rolling instinctively away. Her sharp stiletto pierced the skin; my brown blouse started turning red.

She knelt down next to me, pushing a loose strand of hair out of my streaked face. "_Did you kill my brother_?" she asked very seriously.

"_N-no_," I managed to get out. I was very close to vomiting. I'd never been in so much pain before.

Quick as a flash she punched me in the face. I felt a burning sensation as my lip split; I tasted the iron on my tongue. "_Did you kill my brother_?" she asked again.

"_No_!" I hated my own voice, small and weak and pleading. If it were Murphy or Connor in my place, they would have called her a bitch and accepted whatever she had to dish out. I wasn't them. I couldn't do it. "_I didn't kill him_!"

She paused, gently wiping the blood from my chin with her thumb. Her skin was soft, like silk. "_Then who did_?"

"_I-I don't know_..."

Another fist in my face, this time to my nose. I felt the bones crunch under the force of her blow. I couldn't use my hands to stop the blood, so it ran freely down my throat and around my cheeks to stain my hair red.

She sat back on her heels and pursed her lips, so red against the whiteness of her skin. She examined me closely. "_You're in league with the Saints_." It was a comment, not a question, so I didn't respond. There was another pause. "_Tell me how to find them_."

"_I don't know_." My reply was instantaneous.

This time there wasn't a blow to my face. Instead she grabbed my arm and, unsheathing a long, sharp knife from the top of her boot, she placed the point to the inside of my wrist. She stopped, examining the long scars there of my own doing, and grinned viciously. I liked her smile even less than her threatening glares. She looked almost insane.

"_Ah_," she breathed, closing her eyes in pleasure. "_It looks like I've got a self-mutilator on my hands here. Like the pain, do you? Might make a right good torturer if I wasn't going to kill you_."

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, feeling her run the sharp edge of the knife up and down my scars. It was way worse than the bruised ribs or the split lip or the broken nose.

Then she put the knife away and I chanced opening my eyes. _"Oh no_," she assured me with that malevolent smile. "_I won't cause you the kind of pain you like. Then I'd never get answers out of you_."

Ana got to her feet and walked over to the hearth, where the fire was blazing. It made the room a literal hell, the heat having nowhere to escape to. She had her back to me, so I couldn't see what she was doing, but I heard the rattling of iron against stone and I felt myself go stiff with fear.

When she turned around again, she was holding a long metal pole in her hand, the end red-hot and glowing.

I tried to get away. Even with my hands and feet bound, I tried to worm my way anywhere but there. I didn't get far. I felt overwhelmed by my panic, screaming incoherently, begging her not to do it, kicking and thrashing.

She ripped my shirt up, revealing a generous section of my stomach. I was so scared I couldn't even scream anymore. I tried and no sound came out.

When the brand touched my bare skin, it was like nothing I could have ever imagined. I would have rather been dead. I heard it, my own flesh sizzling. I smelled it, like some sort of exotic barbecue. It was positively blinding; I couldn't see anything. There was only the pain. I turned my head and vomited on the stone floor.

With a wicked little chuckle she removed the brand, taking it back to the hearth to heat up again. I was bawling now, unable to stop it.

Then Ana was kneeling beside me again. She grabbed me by the hair, what she hadn't managed to rip out earlier, and jerked my head up so I was looking at her. "_Now, tell me where I can find the Saints_."

I pressed my lips together fiercely even as the tears streaked through the blood and dirt caked to my cheeks. I wouldn't tell her. This woman would keep torturing me no matter how much I told her; I wasn't going to put my boys in any more danger.

This time she punched me in the stomach, right over where she'd branded me. The tender flesh screamed and ripped open, spilling more blood. I couldn't hold back the screams. They echoed off the walls of the torture chamber and continued for a full minute, like there were a million of me screaming.

The door opened and the older man with the cane hobbled in, leaning heavily on it for support. Ana looked up, disgruntled, and for a moment her attention was on something other than me.

"_What game are you playing, Ana_?" the man demanded sharply, pausing beside the Iron Bull. "_These little teases are doing nothing. We need answers already. Can I trust you to handle this, or do I need to get someone else_?"

"_There is no one else_," Ana replied bitterly. "_And I'll get what we need. Don't I always, old man_?"

He didn't answer, just pursed his lips in almost the same way she did. Then he turned and left the room, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind him. Through my matted bangs, I could just make out a curving staircase on the other side.

Ana, angrier now, grabbed me by the arm and hauled my to my feet. Even though they were tied together and bare now, she forced me along at an agonizing shuffle towards what looked like an upright coffin. When she yanked open the door and I saw the spikes and grate in the floor, I realized what it was: a Chinese Iron Maiden.

She shoved me in and slammed the door closed. I howled with pain as the sharp metal points dug into the tender flesh of the bottoms of my feet. I screamed and cried until there was nothing else.

I don't know how long I stood there, my feet sinking ever lower on the flesh-stained spikes. I tried to move my weight around from time to time so the points wouldn't all be directly against my feet. Though there wasn't enough room in the coffin for a grown man to move around, I wasn't a grown man and eventually I managed to get myself onto my back, my feet up against the wall to give them a rest. The spikes didn't feel any better on my back, especially with my injured rib, but at least the weight was spread out a little more evenly.

I must have been there for hours when Ana's face appeared in the little window, grinning viciously. Then I felt the heat, characteristic of the Chinese Iron Maiden. There was water beneath the spiked grate at the bottom of the coffin, and, when heated, I knew that water would let off a ton of burning, scalding steam.

While I was on my back, I used one of the spikes to saw through the rope binding my hands behind my back. Because I couldn't see what I was doing, I cut my wrists an awful lot against the sharp point, but eventually my hands were free. I was able to release my feet and I scrambled off my back, feeling the pressure on my feet again.

The steam started slowly at first, coiling around my ankles like tendrils of smoke almost. My affinity for hot showers was coming in handy, as it didn't affect me right away. Then, as more and more of the coffin became filled with steam, I felt the burning on my feet and my legs. It felt as if the flesh was melting off my bones. I screamed and cried, beating my fists against the coffin door. It wouldn't budge.

The water boiled for about an hour, and then it stopped. It was dark in the coffin but I could make out, through my tear-filled eyes, the beginnings of burn marks almost up to my ankles. I tried to touch it, to soothe the tender flesh, but it was red and raw. I'd never imagined such pain in my life.

I had a brief respite, alone with the spikes tearing through my tired flesh, for about two hours. And then there was another hour of the steam treatment. I learned I could keep track of time that way.

I had gone through several cycles of steam, too many to count, when the lights in the torture chamber went out and I was left with nothing but the glow from the fire in the hearth through the little window. It must have been nighttime, because Ana went out the door and didn't come back.

I was lightheaded and dizzy. I hadn't eaten or drank anything all day, though food was the farthest thing from my mind. I had thrown up more times than I could count, even when there was nothing left in my stomach. I spent a lot of the time dry-heaving from the pain.

With a great amount of difficulty, I lowered myself to my back again. My feet were a bloody mess of burned flesh. Just looking at them made me burst into a fresh fit of tears. I had managed to keep the weight evenly enough dispersed that not many of the points had sunk too far into the flesh, but there was a point on my right foot that I hadn't managed to move much. The wound there went nearly all the way through. I didn't dare touch it closely, though. It was too tender.

I dozed fitfully, exhausted, my head throbbing. I tried to lay however I could to keep the spikes from penetrating too deeply, but there was no way to stop it. I was torn and covered in blood all over.

I was woken by the bubbling water beneath me as Ana started another steam cycle. The lights were back on and her face was pressed against the glass, grinning that sinister smile. I scrambled to my feet again, tearing most of the flesh off my pinkie toe in the process.

My second day in the torture room went much the same as the first, except I was growing weaker with every passing hour. The flesh on my feet was nothing but mush anymore; the burns crept their way up past my ankles to my knees. I couldn't cry anymore; my throat was too dry. It cracked and bled. I was constantly damp, whether from the steam or my own sweat in this hellish nightmare.

The second night was a little better than the first. At least by that point I was so tired that I slept as soundly as could be expected; I woke up in the morning with a spike an inch deep in my shoulder.

I lost track of the days after that. Even my counting method couldn't keep up. There were a few more day periods and a few more night periods. I felt myself creeping steadily towards death. At this point I welcomed it. My only regret was that I wouldn't get to see Murphy's face again.

It was during one of the day periods that I heard a commotion in the torture room. Summoning up what was left of my strength, I pressed my face against the narrow window. And that's when I saw Connor and Murphy kicking in the door.

Ana, startled at the interruption, started shrieking in Romanian. I was too far gone to understand a word of what she said. Connor stood on the steps, feet planted firmly apart, and started firing. Murphy looked around frantically, probably for me.

"Here," I tried to call, my voice nothing more than a whisper. "I'm over here!"

The sounds of the gunshots echoed off the walls, and Ana, still shrieking, suddenly disappeared. I don't know where to, as Connor was still blocking the main door. The _only_ door, I'd thought.

"Where the fuck is she?" Murphy was screaming.

Connor was looking almost as frantic. "I don't fucking know! Check all these fucking things!"

Eventually they got to the Chinese Iron Maiden and wrenched the door open. The door had been the only thing still supporting me, and I fell out into Murphy's arms.

"Oh my God," I heard him whisper, and that was all I remembered.

**A Chinese Iron Maiden doesn't always have spikes, fyi, but I used them to make this as torturous as I could. I hope I did it justice. This was my first time writing a torture scene and it seems odd to write it from a first person perspective, because the person being tortured wouldn't think clearly and logically, they would probably just be thinking "agggghhh! agghhhhh! agghhhh!" if you know what I mean. Ah well. Hopefully it turned out okay. **

**Please review! Thanks!**


	21. Begin Again

**Thank you guys so much for all your amazing, wonderful reviews! I've been having a tough week (we had to put our kitten to sleep and she wasn't even a year old) and then I get on here and see all your fantastic reviews and it makes my day better. I really, truly appreciate all of you so much! **

**gurl3677: it amazes me that people are so attached to my character. It makes me super happy that everyone is so protective of her XD**

**SaraLostInes: If you felt sick then it means I'm doing my job! Hope it wasn't too bad**

**MulishaMaiden: Yeah, the boys feel pretty awful about what happened to Mimi, but she's the one who got herself involved in all this, really. **

**Valerie Mackin: Thank you!**

**Sierra: I'm glad you liked it! **

**Azalia Fox Knightling: oh yes, lots of blood and sweat and everything else!**

**Dalonega Noquisi: Thank you!**

**.mightier: Less torture and more smut? haha well there will be more torture and really not much smut... I like sex but I try not to be to detailed about it lol**

**Callie: I'm so glad you're addicted!**

**AnnW: I'm so happy you love this! And your pm really made my day 3**

Chapter 21

Begin Again

For so long, every time now, so long

All will see, all with breathe

Oh, I'll begin again, and it hurts

Oh so you really understand

-"Begin Again" by Gratitude

When I came to, the first thing I saw was Val's face up close to mine. It had only been a little over a month since I'd last seen her, but she seemed like something from another life. Her face split into that familiar sneering grin, and I knew she was happy to see me.

"Mimi! You're awake! Somebody! Mimi's awake!" She was gesturing wildly to someone I couldn't see.

I felt numb, so numb that I could barely move my head to look around. I was in a hospital room, one I recognized as being in Stewart Memorial. Those blank walls and tiled floors. I was in the hospital bed, a blanket pulled up to my chin. Though I couldn't feel it, I knew I must have been hooked up to all the machines pulled up around the bed.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps and two nurses came through the open door, wearing matching scrubs. Although I might have recognized them at one point, their faces now didn't register in my memory.

"How are you feeling, Mimi?" one of the nurses asked, checking my vitals on the monitors.

I opened my mouth but it took a few seconds before I could make a sound. "I'm thirsty," I finally croaked.

"I bet." The second nurse commented, checking the IV with the saline drip. "You were severely dehydrated when you came in."

I tried to wet my throat; it was so dry. "W-what happened?"

The first nurse frowned and glanced at her companion. "Isabel, why don't you take Val back to St. Rose for a while?"

The second nurse nodded and ushered Val, clutching Mr. Bear, out of the room.

"What happened?" I repeated, a little louder this time.

The nurse sighed and took my hand in hers. "Mimi, you've suffered a lot of damage. Your body isn't going to look quite the same as it did before."

I took a deep breath. I hadn't expected to even survive the torture room. Surely I could handle a little change.

"You've got a broken nose that was already starting to set when you were brought in. We re-broke it to set it correctly," the nurse explained. I brought my hand to my nose and winced; it was heavily bandaged. "There were also two broken ribs."

"And?" I was waiting for her to get to the most important part.

She frowned, looking down at the offending articles, hidden beneath the sheet. "Your feet and legs have been very badly damaged. You were in the ICU for three days, and then the burn unit for two. We don't know yet if the damage will effect your ability to walk."

"Can I see them?" I asked. I couldn't move my sore, numb arms enough to pull the blankets all the way back.

The nurse gingerly took the blankets and peeled them back. I looked, ready to be horrified, but both my legs were heavily bandaged all the way up past my knees. I couldn't even see a hint of flesh, mutilated or otherwise.

I sank back against the pillows, defeated. "What do they look like?"

The nurse replaced the blankets. "The burns are pretty bad. We've been doing the best we can to prevent scarring, but there's only so much we can do. The wounds all over your body have an infection, which is our biggest concern right now. The bottoms of your feet are really bad. There are..." She paused, thinking of a tactful way of saying it. "Whole chunks of flesh missing. We're doing our best, but you have to understand that your legs and feet aren't going to look the same..."

I looked past her suddenly, through the doorway. There were Connor and Murphy, looking more relieved than I'd ever seen them. The nurse followed my gaze and, when she saw them, excused herself.

They rushed into the room, closing the door behind them. Connor came to my left side, Murphy to my right. There was silence for a moment as though no one knew quite what to say.

Finally I said, "Hi."

"Christ, what the fuck happened, Mimi?" Connor finally demanded, taking my hand. It looked small and pale in his. I was on so much pain medication that I couldn't quite feel it.

I sighed, feeling Murphy take my other hand. "I was at work and the Romanian woman came in. Ana. I hid behind the counter so she wouldn't see me, but it didn't help. She shot one of my coworkers and my manager." I didn't like thinking about Katie. I kept seeing her blank eyes staring at me, as if asking for help.

"Aye, we heard about that from Dolly," Connor nodded solemnly, brushing a stray lock of hair off my forehead. "Nasty scene, that was. The media had a field day with it. So did she see you behind the counter?"

"I guess." Even though I must have been out for days, I was exhausted. "She grabbed me and hit me over the head. Next thing I knew I was in the torture chamber. She hit me and kicked me few times. I guess that's how I got the cracked ribs and broken nose. And she branded me."

"_She what_?" Murphy finally spoke, his tone absolutely incredulous.

I took my hands back so I could lift up my hospital gown and show them the puffy red scar there. It was still tender, though the pain wasn't nearly as intense anymore. The shape, once the swelling had gone down, looked like half a heart.

Murphy looked away, closing his eyes. "_Fuck_."

Connor tried to look at his brother, but Murphy refused to meet his gaze. "Is that when she put you in the spiked thing?"

"Yeah," I nodded, pulling the gown back down to cover my plain black panties. "The old man came in and told her to quit fooling around. Then I got put in the Chinese Iron Maiden. How long was I there?"

"Five days," Connor answered, leaning back in his chair. "The longest fucking five days of my life. We searched everywhere for you, Mimi. _Everywhere_."

I glanced at Murphy, still looking down. "Where was the torture room? It's here in Boston, isn't it?"

"Aye," Connor answered bitterly. "Right under our fucking noses. It's near the bay, underneath some old warehouse. Probably the warehouse they've been using for their deals."

I ran my tongue over my healing split lip. "Did you get her? Ana, I mean. I heard gunshots right before I passed out."

"I got her in the shoulder and the leg, but she got away." Connor ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know if the wounds will be bad enough for her to go to a hospital."

Murphy shook his head. "She won't go. They're into torture; she can handle a little fucking pain. She's not going to risk it."

There was a pause, during which Connor sighed again. "I better go call Smecker," he announced. "He wanted an update on your status." He pressed a sweet kiss to my forehead and left, pulling the door closed after him. I was pretty positive he wasn't going to call Smecker; he was just that good of a brother.

Murphy finally turned his eyes to mine, and he looked awful. He probably hadn't been sleeping. "I am _so_ fucking sorry, Mimi," he began.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," I interrupted firmly. "I was the one who got myself into this mess, not you. And I'm alive, aren't I?"

I saw his eyes flicker to my covered legs, and I could only imagine that he'd seen them un-bandaged. "But the things that bitch did to you..."

"Look, I'm already supposed to be dead, remember?" I held up my arm, the one without the IV, to show him the scars. Though red, they obviously weren't fresh. "I have dysthymia. I tried to kill myself eight months ago. I'm not even supposed to be here now. Let's consider this a victory that I'm alive, okay?"

He forced a smile; I really loved him. "You're right. If you can be strong, then I can too." He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against my lips.

The door opened and he pulled away quickly. It was the two nurses again, with a little plastic basin of water and rubber gloves. "I'm sorry to interrupt," one said. "But it's time to change your bandages, Mimi. Sir, if you'll just wait outside, we'll be done shortly."

"No," I said firmly, grabbing his arm as he got up to leave. "He can stay. I want him to stay." I didn't want to face the disaster alone.

So Murphy moved out of the way, still holding my hand, his gaze unreadable. The nurses took the blankets off the bed and very carefully began unwinding the bandages around my left leg. The burn scars started just above my knee, very faint at first. They grew more pronounced as they went down, past my knee towards my ankle. It was a map of raised, red flesh, twisting and winding its disfigured way down my once smooth skin. I had to close my eyes. There was so much burned flesh.

Though I had been pretty numb so far, the second the nurses touched my feet an agonizing pain shot through my entire body. I gripped Murphy's hand tightly, my fingers turning white.

I couldn't see my feet very well from where I was at the head of the bed, but I could see that the bandages the nurses removed were bloody and stained with something brownish; the nurse hadn't been kidding about a bad infection. I could see literal chunks of my feet missing. One of my pinkie toes was nowhere to be found, just a little nub.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to just let it go. There was so much pain and so much scarring and so much permanent damage. Crying seemed about the only option. But I couldn't cry in front of Murphy. It would only make things worse.

The nurses finished removing the bandages as quickly as they could, and then they sponged my legs and feet gently. Even when they barely touched the soft sponge to my skin, it was like I was being tortured all over again. The thought that I might never be able to walk again crossed my mind, but I quickly banished it. Dr. Mendoza always told me during our individual therapies that thoughts were more powerful than medicine.

After they had sponged my legs and feet, they had two different ointments that they used. One they put on the burns; the other they used on the infected wounds of my feet. Then they wound fresh bandages around them and excused themselves.

"You're going to be okay," Murphy told me, moving so I could see his face again. He was very earnest.

I smiled; I didn't even have to force it. "I know. You're with me."

Connor arrived a moment later, grinning. "Mimi, your friends from St. Rose are on their way to pay you a little visit. The nurses thought it was important that I warn you."

The laugh that escaped me hurt my throat. "You obviously haven't met the psych patients here yet then. It _is_ important. You two probably ought to get out of here."

Murphy smiled and kissed me again, pressing his hand to my cheek briefly. Connor waved and the two of them left, promising to be back in a few hours.

They left just in time. Not three minutes later, the door opened and all of the Crazies came barreling in, led by Val and Mr. Bear.

Though I felt that I had changed so much since I'd been released from St. Rose, none of them had changed at all. Bex was still eating everything in sight; Gina was still whiny; Clark was still using painting class to give himself "tattoos." They were refreshingly familiar.

And curious, of course.

"What the hell happened?" Allison demanded, perched on one of the chairs. "When one of the nurses said you'd been admitted in the ER, we were sure they had the wrong name or something."

Gina, ever the charmer, asked, "Did you do it to yourself? You could ask for attention a little less dramatically, you know."

"Did it have anything to do with those torturers out on the loose?" Patrick, who had always been the smart one, asked. "We don't get to watch the news updates about it, of course, but every once in a while I'll see a paper with a headline to that effect. Hell, the newspaper is on the point of straight-up asking the Saints for help."

I wasn't good at lying, but the Crazies were lied to so often they usually just accepted whatever was told to them at face value. So I lied. "I don't really know. After I got discharged I started working at this store down in South Boston, and I was working my shift the other day and somebody came in and kidnapped me. Tortured me. It was awful." At least that part wasn't a lie.

"How'd you escape?" This was from Clark. He was sitting next to Allison, picking at the paint caked to his hairy arm.

I shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I was there for five days, they say. No food and no water. I was pretty delirious by the end."

They sat there for the better part of an hour, grilling me. Only Val said nothing. She just sat there and held my hand. Eventually one of my nurses came in and took them back to the psych wing, saying I needed my rest. She wasn't lying. I fell asleep almost immediately.

**I guess this isn't so much a crucial, action-packed chapter, but after what Mimi went through I figured she deserved a break! Please review! **


	22. Tomorrow Never Dies

**So I really, really wanted to update this on St. Patrick's Day because, well you know. But my wonderful hubby took me to a concert out of town to celebrate! It was wonderful, but also nerve-wracking! LOL! It was our first time leaving Dean, even though it was only for one night. I'm such a nervous mommy. But we left him with my sister and her husband (they're expecting their first in November so she wanted to practice haha). So that's why I didn't update yesterday. Hopefully today is almost as good!**

**Thanks to Azalia Fox Knightling, SaraLostInes, AnnW, Dalonega Noquisi, and Valerie Mackin for the wonderful reviews!**

Chapter 22

Tomorrow Never Dies

Darling I'm killed

I'm in a puddle on the floor

Waiting for you to return

Oh what a thrill

Fascinations galore

How you tease

How you leave me to burn

It's so deadly my dear

The power of having you near

-"Tomorrow Never Dies" by Sheryl Crow

I spent the next fortnight in the hospital. Murphy and Connor came as often as they could, but I insisted that they stay away more. The heat between the Saints and the _Sînge Dragoste _had reached an all-time high, and they needed their anonymity more than anything.

Joan, even though she worked almost full-time at a touristy little restaurant near the docks, came and sat with me most of the time. We talked about a lot of stuff; everything except my injuries. I hadn't looked at them since that first day. I turned my head every time the nurses or doctors came to look at them.

"Right before this all happened, the boys said something about you turning Connor down when he asked you for a date?" I didn't phrase it as a question, but it was a question nonetheless.

She let out a laugh, chewing on the straw of her cafeteria soft drink. "Yeah, he's asked me out several times. I keep telling him no. It's sort of adorable how he keeps trying."

I pushed myself up. Though my legs still hurt like fire, the rest of me seemed to be healing fairly well. Even the brand on my stomach, which I knew would never fade, was at least not as raw and red. "Why? I thought you liked him?"

She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "How shall I put this tactfully? I like Connor, fair enough. But he's got something of a reputation around South Boston. He woos girls a lot prettier than me and then they never hear from him again. I just don't want to risk being another notch on his bedpost."

"Really? Since I've known him, you're the only girl I've even seen him talk to," I pointed out, reaching for the bag of potato chips she had bought me at the vending machine. "He was really upset the other night after we were all out at McGinty's."

She snorted. "I'll be he was." But she looked thoughtful.

A silence fell between us. Eventually I asked, "Have the cops or anybody had any luck finding that bitch?"

"No." Joan shook her head. "They've been scouring hospitals and walk-in clinics. She's got to have those bullet wounds tended to at some point. But so far, they've had no luck."

"She's not going to go to a hospital or emergency room or anything," I frowned. "She's going to go to someone she trusts. Definitely someone Romanian. Not necessarily a doctor, either. Just someone who can use tools. She doesn't care about the pain."

Joan frowned. "Have you talked about this with the boys?"

"No. I've been meaning to but it always seems to slip my mind. I'm on so many painkillers and stuff," I answered.

When Joan wasn't with me, the Crazies took over. I had started physical therapy and could walk short distances with the aid of crutches, but I couldn't move much. Val liked to swipe a wheelchair for me and take me all over the hospital, filling me in on what had happened while I was away. She seemed to think I was there to stay again.

"So you're still with those two guys," she surprised me by saying one afternoon. We were parked in front of the nursery window, watching the newborns wave their tiny fists in the air. I had never liked the maternity wing of the hospital when I was a psych patient; now I liked it a lot more than the ER.

I shrugged as best I could, rearranging the blanket over my legs. Though they remained bandaged, I didn't like for anyone to see them. It was like I was ashamed. "I guess so," I answered. "I'm dating one of them."

"I figured as much," Val answered, leaning against the back of the wheelchair. "You should have seen him before you woke up. You know, when you were still unconscious." She laughed a little. "He was so worried. And angry. I thought he was going to tear the entire hospital down." She laughed again. "Might be an improvement."

"Yeah," I agreed, smiling. Even with the torture and the fact that I had killed five men, I was glad that I was involved. Because of Murphy. It was amazing one man could do all that.

There was a pause, and then Val said, "I like him. If you have to go with someone, I'm glad that it's him."

I was released after two weeks, even though I probably shouldn't have been. The nurses and my doctor didn't seem to like the idea, but it happened anyway. Joan was there to take me home, since the boys were laying low. The nurses explained how to take care of my injuries in detail and gave us a good supply of gauze and prescription ointment, and then I was free to go.

She wheeled me out the main doors of the hospital in a wheelchair, my little bag of belongings over her shoulder. "Glad to be free?" she asked.

"I guess," I answered. Mostly I was excited to be going home. Even though I'd only been living there for a month and a half, it was definitely my home. Maybe more so than the apartment I'd lived in with Jamie.

It was an ordeal getting me from the wheelchair to the car. I had to use my crutches and even then I stumbled a little. The infection in my feet was gone and the wounds had begun to heal nicely, but they still burned when I put even the slightest pressure on them. And the missing pieces of flesh did nothing for my balance. Eventually I got into the backseat and we pulled away from the hospital. For the last time, I hoped.

It had taken Murphy twenty minutes to get from Stewart Memorial to the tenement where we lived; with Joan driving, it took nearly forty. Eventually we arrived, and there were Connor and Murphy on the steps, waiting for us.

Murphy was at my door in an instant, lifting me up like I weighed nothing. Which, after nearly a week of not eating anything and another two on a hospital diet, was probably likely.

"How was the drive?" Connor asked, taking my bag from Joan and slinging it over his shoulder. He looked pretty silly with it, as it was pink and covered in polka dots, but somehow his masculinity wasn't affected.

Joan tucked her hair behind her ear. "It was fine. Traffic was awful but it's Boston. What else can you expect?"

Murphy carried me stoically inside, into the elevator, and into the apartment. Before he set me down on the sofa, he planted a sweet kiss on the corner of my mouth. I kissed him back. I had really missed him.

When he pulled away, I saw Connor and Joan quickly look away. "Whew. I need a beer," I said, breaking the awkward silence.

Connor grinned. "No fucking way. When you were playing nurse, you made damn sure I never got a beer or a cigarette. Now it's my turn."

"Karma's a bitch," Joan agreed with a wink.

I rolled my eyes and flipped on the television. I had gotten spoiled by the television at the hospital. The ones in regular patients' rooms didn't have blocked channels like the ones in the psych ward. But when Murphy flopped down on the couch beside me, a beer in hand, it didn't matter.

"Oh, has anyone found Ana yet?" I asked over dinner. Joan had gone home already, so it was just the three of us eating pizza. It was delicious after my stint with hospital food. "I told Joan to tell you not to look for her at a hospital."

"Yeah, we knew she wouldn't go there," Murphy nodded, putting a gentle hand on my knee underneath the table. I was wearing baggy flannel sweatpants over my bandages, but he was careful not to touch any of the injured area. Sometimes I felt he knew what parts of me were hurt more than I did. "We've been scouring the town, but Boston is big. We haven't found anyone we think knows anything."

I frowned, chewing on a pepperoni. "It's going to be too late to find her now. She's going to be long gone."

"Hey, we tracked these mother fuckers down once already," Connor told me seriously. "We'll do it again. And then we're going to take them out. We're halfway there."

I forced a smile. At least they were doing something.

Murphy was the one who tried to help me to bed. I was still fairly weak, but I insisted on using my crutches and doing it myself. The hallway was short, after all. I was exhausted by the time I reached my bedroom, but I made it. Murphy followed me in. I sat down heavily on the bed and handed him my crutches; he leaned them in the corner.

"Tired?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I nodded, undoing my bra beneath my t-shirt and tossing it in the same direction as the crutches. "Yeah, today's the first day I didn't sleep for fifteen hours. Plus I actually got real food tonight." I grinned and pressed my forehead against his arm, half against the cotton of his t-shirt sleeve and half against his warm skin.

He smiled and lay down beside me, pulling me to him while being careful of my legs. He pressed his lips to my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, my eyes, and, finally, my lips. And he stayed with me until I fell asleep.

**Damn, this is shorter than I thought it was. I'll update again soon with lots of reviews! XD**


	23. I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea

**So I have exciting news! I got to meet Norman Reedus this weekend! He was so nice! And he smelled so good! He looks just as good in person as he does on tv and in movies! I had a super fangirl moment! Haha thought I'd share because y'all will appreciate it! **

**SaraLostInes: Fluffiness is awesome. the end. **

**Delonega Noquisi: yes, short but sweet. Nothing short or sweet about this chapter! **

**tknoir1101: more more more!**

**Valerie E. Mackin: yay for patience!**

**MulishaMaiden: Oh, she's going to be in bandages for a while. Burns like hers take forever to heal!**

**Lift the Wings: YAY! who doesn't love Murphy? He is AWESOME**

**0netflixme0: your wish is my command! LOL**

Chapter 23

I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth

Please put the doctor on the phone 'cause I'm not making any sense

Blame everyone but me for this mess

And my back has been breaking from this heavy heart

We never seemed to far

I'm hopelessly hopeful, you're just hopeless enough

But we never had it at all

-"I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth" by Fall Out Boy

The following day was Sunday, so the boys left early to go to church. They always went to the earliest service they could, seeing as how they were sort of criminals. When I once suggested that they _not_ go to church, I had been met with such a stony silence that I never brought it up again. Let them be religious if they wanted to, I told myself. Joan came over before they left to help me before her shift at the restaurant.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked, helping me out of bed.

"I feel useless and weak, like a little old lady," I grunted, gesturing for my crutches. "And I'm hungry."

"Good. I made some eggs."

We sat at the table and ate together, and she made me take my painkillers and my prescription for the dysthymia. "Do you think Murphy cares that I'm not pretty anymore?"

She paused with her glass of orange juice halfway to her mouth (beer for breakfast didn't seem to be universally Irish). "What are you talking about, Mimi? Murphy's head over heels for you. Any idiot can see that."

"But my legs aren't going to get any better," I found myself saying. "I'm still able to walk, but they're always going to look like leather. They're disgusting. I can't even stand to look at them. Why should he? It took so much for him to agree to be with me in the first place."

She reached across the table and took my hand, giving me a reassuring smile. "Look, Mimi, I know this may not mean much coming from me, but it's obvious that Murphy doesn't care about your legs. I've never seen him act this way with anybody else."

"I don't understand that, either," I grumbled. "Why would someone like Murphy want to be with someone like me? I'm not smart. I never even finished college. And I'm not even very pretty. He could have any girl he wanted. Why does he want me?"

She didn't try to tell me that I was smart or pretty, which I appreciated. "Who knows why men want what they do? Hell, who knows why we want the things we do? Connor's a womanizing bastard and I still want him."

"So why don't you go for it?" I asked. "I mean, things are different now. Connor's different. Wouldn't it suck if you went your whole life wondering?"

She paused for a moment, fiddling with her glass. "You may be right," she finally agreed. "Now let's get you in the bath. We've got to change your dressings."

It was embarrassing, having to have help bathing. It was one thing for nurses to wash me; it was their job. It was awful having to ask Joan but it would have been a lot worse asking Murphy to do it.

I could undress well enough on my own. Then I sat on the closed toilet seat in nothing but my underwear while Joan, kneeling at my feet, carefully unwound the bandages around my legs and feet. Though she'd watched the nurses change my bandages often, she'd never had to be so close before. I was impressed that she didn't flinch.

"So you and Murphy are for real now, huh?" she asked, peeling back more bandages, revealing more and more scars. I had hoped that as they healed, the scars would lessen and my legs would look more normal. They didn't. Even though they were well on their way to being healed, they looked just as fresh as they did when I was in the Chinese Iron Maiden.

"Yeah, I guess so," I agreed, looking up at the ceiling light so I didn't have to see the scars. "I mean, we haven't really put a label on it, but I'd say we've passed some pretty critical bases."

She arched her dark eyebrows at me, glancing up as she took the last bit of bandages off. "Oh really? Do tell. Or do I even want to know?"

"Not much to know," I shrugged, blushing. She helped me to my feet and I slipped out of my underwear and into the tub. The water was only lukewarm, but it burned. It was hard to have my legs and feet submerged, but it sure as hell beat a shower. I didn't think I could take even the softest setting of the shower falling against my legs.

"Doesn't sound like not much," Joan grinned, kneeling beside the bathtub like she was bathing a toddler. "Come on. Now I'm interested."

I smiled, ducking my head at the mere memory. "It was the night you, me, Murphy and Connor all met up at McGinty's," I explained as she soaped up a loufa and began scrubbing my back for me. "When we went outside to get some air we just started making out and things got hot and heavy."

Her hand on my back paused and she gaped at me, half-horrified, half-impressed. "You had sex with him outside of the pub?"

"Of course not! I'm not an exhibitionist!" I exclaimed, turning an even darker shade of red. My sister Jamie had always called me a prude because I was very particular about where I had sex and who I had sex with. Needless to say, there hadn't been a whole lot of partners before Murphy.

Joan returned to my back, chuckling in relief. "Thank god. I mean it would be cool, but I don't think I'd be able to see the pub the same way again." She rinsed the soap off my back with the shower head, and then she used it to wet my long hair. It was getting too long. Maybe I'd cut it all off so bitches like Ana didn't have anything to grab. But then Murphy wouldn't have anything to grab either.

"I think we were in sort of a hurry when we got home, though, because we left our coats and shoes and stuff just lying in the floor," I continued as she lathered shampoo into my hair. It was sweet-smelling, like strawberries.

She laughed again, a little harsher this time. "I bet Connor had a field day with that. Someone getting laid that wasn't him."

"He did seem to be in a pretty foul mood the next morning," I agreed. "Although I just figured that he wasn't used to getting turned down so often." I grinned wickedly at her.

"You're horrible," she joked, rinsing my hair out. Shampoo suds slid down the smooth skin of my shoulders and back. I watched them slide down my smooth breasts, so soft, and lamented for the thousandth time my pretty legs. "So, was he any good? I've always had this nasty suspicion that both of them are absolutely amazing in bed. They're amazing at everything else, after all."

I laughed. "Well, I don't have much experience to base it on," I admitted. "But yeah. It was pretty unbelievable."

"So was it just the once? So far, I mean?" she pressed curiously, reaching for the conditioner next. "You don't have to answer if I'm being too nosy."

"It's fine," I shrugged. "Yeah, so far it's just been the once. The next day was when I got taken, and I haven't been in any condition to get down and dirty since then."

"Oh." She fell silent, working the conditioner through my hair. Finally she said, "What were you thinking? While you were in the torture chamber? What did you think about?"

I didn't answer for a moment, thinking. "A lot of things, really. But mostly I thought about my sister, and Murphy."

"I didn't know you had a sister," she commented, using the shower head to rinse my hair.

"She's dead," I answered, accepting the soapy loufa she handed me and using it to wash my front. "Have you and Connor or Murphy ever talked about me?"

"A bit," she admitted. "But they didn't say much. They're both very protective of you."

I ran the loufa across my breasts and down my stomach, going over the brand next to my belly button only briefly. "Did they ever tell you how we met?"

She shook her head.

"It was at the hospital. Stewart Memorial, actually. Connor came in with a gunshot wound to the lung, among others, and had to have surgery," I explained. "They were there for a few weeks. That's how we met."

There was a long pause while I thoughtfully rubbed down my arms. "Why were you at the hospital?" she finally asked.

"I was living there," I explained, not caring that it was a touchy subject. "I have dysthymia. It's a depression disorder, easily managed by medication. That's what I take every morning when I take the painkillers."

She seemed more cautious now. "If it's easily managed by medication, why were you living in the hospital?"

"Last March," I continued, rinsing the loufa out in the bath water. "I decided to do an experiment. I had been on my antidepressants for so long that I wanted to know what life was like without them. So I stopped taking them for a few weeks. And then my sister got in a car crash and died. My doctors called what happened a 'depressive episode.'" I held out my wrists so she could see the old scars. "I was in the hospital from March until September."

She was still silent, frowning.

"While I was in the torture chamber, I thought a lot about my episode." I couldn't look at her. "For the longest time after I tried to kill myself, even when I was back on my medication, I didn't find much to live for. I just didn't care. But everything changed when I met Connor and Murphy. My sister's death had created this hole that nothing filled until then. So when I was there, with my feet bleeding and the flesh on my legs steaming off, I thought about how bittersweet it was that I'd lived long enough to know happiness again."

Joan opened her mouth to say something, but I continued.

"I really thought I was going to die in there," I said. "In a way I was sort of happy. Not to be being tortured, of course, but to see Jamie again. That's my sister. She was my everything before she died. She took care of me most of my life. But I was really sad, too. And that was the most important thing. Not even a year ago I had no desire to live. Not just no desire to live, but a conscious desire to die. I guess you can't understand if you don't suffer from depression, but it was a big thing for me."

She shook her head. "No, I definitely understand," she assured me, helping me out of the bath and wrapping a towel around my shoulders.

We were silent as I sat on the edge of the toilet again and she used a second towel to softly pat my burned legs dry. I bit my lip, trying not to let the pain get to me. Then she carefully applied the ointments and re-bandaged everything.

"Come on," she said softly, helping me to my unsteady feet. "Let's get you dressed."

We were sitting on the sofa, me fully dressed again in baggy sweats and a t-shirt, before she spoke again. "Thank you," she murmured, switching the television channel. "For telling me everything. When I heard what had happened to you, I tried to imagine what you might have been thinking. But I couldn't."

"That's probably a good thing," I smiled.

When Connor and Murphy walked through the door, I could tell something was wrong. They gave Joan and I short smiles and brief hellos.

Even Joan noticed something was off. She gave me a strange look but didn't press the matter. I guess she had learned by now that it was pointless. "Alright, I'm off to work. I'll see you guys tomorrow." She blew me a kiss and slipped out the door as Murphy took the seat on the sofa she'd vacated, intertwining his fingers in my damp hair.

"What's going on?" I asked, looking from Murphy to Connor and back again. "What the hell's got you guys all in a tizz?"

They hesitated for a moment, exchanging one of those twin looks that I knew I would never understand. Then Murphy gave in. "You said one of the _Sînge Dragoste _was an old man, right?"

I nodded. "With a cane."

"The police think they've caught him. They've got an old Romanian guy down at the station. They want-"

"Murph," Connor said sharply, and his brother shut his mouth immediately. "We said we weren't going to do this. Why even bother?"

"Do what?" I pressed, sitting up suddenly. "What the hell is going on?"

Murphy glared at his brother and continued. "Well, you're the only one that has seen the two remaining members, the woman and the old man. Smecker wants you to come down to the station and identify the man they've got in custody and maybe help a sketch artist get a rendering of the woman."

I frowned. "I don't know why this is a problem. Why can't I do it?"

"Because you can barely fucking walk," Connor snapped, slamming his palm down on the kitchen counter. "I'll be damned if I let anyone drag you all over South Boston! It's our fault you're in this mess in the first place!"

My frown deepened. "Actually, Connor, it's _my_ fault I'm in this mess in the first place. And you can't keep me from helping out. If I can help you guys catch these bastards, don't you think I want to?"

There was a silence, Murphy's hand still gently in my hair. He tugged me towards him, smiling, and pressed his lips to my temple. "I told you she's a fighter, Connor. When are you going to learn I'm the fucking smart one?"

"Fuck off," Connor mumbled, but it seemed the matter was resolved.

We went to the precinct the next morning in the Avenger, although Connor and Murphy sat in the car. Smecker met me on the front steps and showed me into a narrow room with a one-way glass window that I hadn't been to when I was pretending to be an FBI agent. I was afraid at first that someone might recognize me, but I realized quickly that I looked a lot different in baggy sweats and bandages than I did in a pencil skirt and heels. Plus the three rogue detectives working with Smecker and the boys were the only ones I had officially been introduced to anyway.

"How are you feeling?" Smecker asked, pulling up a chair.

I wanted to say, _I've had half my legs burned off. How would you feel_? But instead I just said, "Fine. Now how do I do this?"

"Here's the man," Smecker said, pointing through the window. "Is that the man you saw before? The one who was there while you were being tortured?"

I squinted at the man. Even though the thick glass, it was obvious it wasn't him. I shook my head. "No, definitely not. Not even close."

Smecker sighed. "Dammit. That's what I was afraid of." He sank into the chair across from me and put his head in his hands. "We're getting fucking nowhere with this case."

"Well, at least two of them are dead," I pointed out. "Two left is better than four."

He forced a smile. "Yeah, you're right. You're a glass half-full kind of person, huh?" The irony of that statement almost made me laugh. Nobody had ever referred to me as optimistic before. Dr. Mendoza would have a field day.

"Sure," I said instead of laughing.

He got to his feet. "Do you feel up to helping our sketch artist with some profile sketches? I know you must be tired."

"No, I'll do anything to help get these people," I answered, struggling to my feet with my crutches.

"That's what I like to hear." He helped me to the conference room where I had met with Greenly, Dolly, and Duffy, though the only person there now was a stick-thin woman with lush auburn curls and lipstick that clashed. "Ms. Benson," he said, referring to me formally. "This is our sketch artist, Brenda Baker. Brenda, this is our witness, Naomi Benson."

"Nice to meet you." The woman extended a skeletal hand. I balanced on one of my crutches to shake it. "If you'll take a seat, we'll get right to it." I sat down carefully, avoiding any further injury to my legs, and leaned my crutches against the table. "Now, we'll start with the woman. How would you describe her?"

I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. "Well, she's very pretty. In a bride of Dracula type of way. She's very pale, with dark red hair. It's almost black. It's about halfway down her back. She has very dark eyes. They look almost black." I watched the woman sketch, her pencil moving rapidly across her paper.

Perhaps because I was watching her so intently, I noticed the scar beneath her sleeve. It was very similar to the scars on my wrist, deeper and harsher. But, unlike mine, they were on the outside of her arm. I froze.

"Were there any distinguishing features that you can remember?" she asked, looking at me. I hardly dared meet her eyes for fear of revealing what I knew.

I shook my head. "No, nothing." I looked down at my toes. "I'm actually really tired. It's time for my pain medication. Is there any way we could finish this up another time?"

The thin woman looked to Smecker for confirmation, her pencil poised. He nodded and she closed her notebook. "Until next time, then." She held out her hand again for me to shake, the sleeve pulled down low enough now that I couldn't see the scars. She nodded deferentially to Smecker and swept out of the room, her heels clicking on the tiled floor.

"Do you need help getting up, Mimi?" Smecker asked, reaching for my crutches.

I grabbed his wrist with my hand. "She's one of them," I hissed through clenched teeth. "Your sketch artist. She's working for the _Sînge Dragoste_!"

He froze too. "That is a very serious accusation, Mimi. Why do you say that?"

"The scars. The ones on her arm. I'll bet anything they're all over her," I said, looking around anxiously. "They're from a Spanish Tickler. She's probably just a peon, but she's definitely working for them."

"_Fuck_," he muttered, and I released his wrist. "Is there no one we can trust anymore? Fuck! Let's get you out of here. It's not safe. What if she follows you and the boys back to your place? This is a fucking disaster."

"Can't you arrest her or something?" I asked, feeling panicked myself.

"Of course not! Then they'll know that we're onto them!" Smecker was pacing now, clearly upset. "This investigation could not be going any worse! Fuck!"

Smecker helped me out to the Avenger but didn't say anything. If the thin woman saw him talking to Connor and Murphy she'd only get more suspicious. We were tiptoeing on eggshells now.

"So what happened?" Murphy pressed as soon as we pulled away from the curb. "Was it our guy?"

"No," I answered grimly. "And the shit seriously hit the fan. Not only was it not the right guy in custody, but the sketch artist is working for the _Sînge Dragoste_."

Connor nearly slammed into the car in front of us. "_What_? They've got plants at the precinct now?"

"Yeah," I muttered, leaning back against the seat and snuggling down into my coat. "Smecker was really adamant that we make sure we're not followed back home. If they've got one there, he's sure there are going to be more."

"_Fuck_," Murphy swore. There seemed to be a lot of that going on. "And here we thought they might've left town."

"No, they'd never do that," I said firmly. "I know things have been quiet the last couple weeks. Smecker said that they've even stopped doing business. But they're just laying low and waiting it out. They'll be coming for us again."

"Aye," Connor agreed, making a sharp left turn as if to make sure no one was following. "We've got to find these mother fuckers before they find us."

**Dun dun dun! We're getting into more action-y stuff again! Yay! Please review! I love you all! **


	24. Slow Down

**Eep! I'm so sorry it's taken me like a whole month to update! But I have exciting news! My husband and I bought our first house! Not renting, owning! We're very happy! And we just got internet so that's why I'm updating now! Thanks for being patient! **

**LadyLecter47: thanks! It was fantastic to meet him!**

**SaraLostInes: haha yeah I wish I could remember how he smelled forever but unfortunately I have already forgotten lol**

**Valerie E. Mackin: thank you! that's a serious compliment! 3**

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****Chapter 24

Slow Down

Close the door and take the stairs

Up or down? Ups and downs

Don't pretend you've never been there

-"Slow Down" by The Academy Is...

The search didn't start out very well. Wherever Ana and the old man were hiding, presumably with a group of thugs they could use as human shields, it was somewhere we couldn't find. Either that or everyone in the city of Boston was helping them out.

"I don't understand," I whined Saturday afternoon a week later. We were sitting on the sofa so I could stretch my legs out, trying to find any leads on the _Sînge Dragoste_. We were at a complete standstill. "How do people just disappear?"

Murphy, sitting to my right, tossed down the newspaper he'd been perusing. "I have no fucking idea. You're supposed to be the smart one here."

I glared at him. "You don't have to be an ass about it."

"Sorry," he sighed. "I've just never been so fucking frustrated before in my life. The guy was old, right? He can't have gone far, for fuck's sake."

I itched under the bandage on my left leg. Though my burns were healing nicely, I still wore the bandages. I hadn't gotten past the stage where I was likely to get infections, so I wore them even if they were annoying as hell. Plus I hated to look at them. "In the torture room," I said slowly. "After Ana got shot, where did she go?"

Connor, sitting to my left with a beer in one hand and a newspaper in the other, shrugged. "I don't know. I couldn't really see. She must have ran off."

I frowned, furrowing my brow. "But you were standing in the doorway, right? The one leading to the curved staircase?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He shrugged.

I dropped my own paper. "That doorway was the _only_ exit from the torture room. If she disappeared, she went somewhere in the torture room. Somewhere deeper."

Connor looked at me steadily. "Are you saying she and that old man are still in that torture room?"

"I don't know. Could be." My heart was pounding now. "I'm telling you, I was there for five days. The only way in and out of that room was that curved staircase."

Connor and Murphy exchanged dark looks. "Check it out?" Murphy suggested grimly, his eyes intense.

"We'll have to be careful," Connor murmured. "We could be walking into a deathtrap here. But it's our only shot."

They planned their escapade for Monday night. I watched them get ready to go, strapping on their guns and their black gloves, with that sense of fear I was quickly growing accustomed to. "Have you talked the plan out with Smecker?" I asked, sitting on the sofa.

"No," Connor said shortly. "He doesn't need to know everything we do. That's the way it was before and it worked out better for us."

"We'll be fine, I promise." Murphy pressed his lips to mine fiercely and I tasted that familiar taste. "Don't wait up for us. You need some sleep."

"Fat chance!" I shouted after them as the door closed.

I was alone in the apartment yet again, waiting to see if my boys would come home in one piece or even at all. The apartment, usually so small, felt suddenly huge. Murphy had wanted to invite Joan over to keep me company, help take care of me, but Connor had been firmly against it. He hadn't wanted her around much lately. He wouldn't say why but I knew he was afraid for her safety. I thought she was wrong about him.

Since there wasn't much to occupy my thoughts, I turned the television on and decided I'd try my hand at tending my legs on my own. Thus far, Joan had done it every time. I was getting tired of having to depend on her. I had been feeling pretty helpless and I decided it was damn time to stop.

It was difficult to even unwrap the damn bandages. Joan had perfected the art, always making them neat and tidy and perfect-looking. Then I managed to get them off and there were my legs, long and covered in that disgusting web of lines and red scars. I stretched them cautiously, feeling how tight the new skin was. It ached but I moved them anyway.

I ran my fingers across the burns. They no longer ached at the mere touch but they were still tender. I frowned at them. They were so ugly.

My gaze moved down my leg, past the web of twisting, intersecting, puffy burns towards my feet. They were burned even worse than my legs, but, for some reason, I didn't mind them as much. Maybe because the stub of a pinkie toe and misshapen flesh. I wiggled my toes tentatively. Even the pinkie stump moved. I let out a massive sigh.

I made my way to the bathroom. I had gotten pretty efficient at using only one crutch. It felt different walking without the bandages, freer somehow. I liked not being confined by them. The new skin stretched and ached but still I moved.

I shimmied out of my sweatpants and settled myself on the edge of the bathtub, turning the taps towards warm. I had had to learn not to turn the knob all the way to hot; it was difficult for me.

Feeling the water temperature with my hand, I gently splashed some of it over my legs. Then, taking my soft sponge, I cleaned the raw, leather-like skin. It was different when I washed them. They seemed more personal. I discovered I was crying.

I sat there for a long time, trying to force myself to not feel self-pity. It was hard. Then I got out of the tub and gently massaged the prescription ointment into my burns. It felt soothing and tingly. Using my one crutch, I hobbled back to the living room. I didn't want to re-bandage my legs, but I certainly didn't want either Murphy or Connor to see the disgusting mess that my legs had become. I could remember a time not that long ago when Murphy had run his hands up and down these same legs, so smooth and inviting then.

So I wrapped clean bandages around them but I left just the tips of my of my toes peeking out for a taste of freedom.

I was stretched out on the sofa when they got back, splattered with blood. I felt my heart jump into my throat again, unsure of whether it was theirs or someone else's.

"What happened?" I demanded, struggling unsteadily to my feet. "Are you guys all right? Is that your blood?"

"We're fine," Connor muttered, pressing a hand over his shoulder. "I was just grazed, that's all. I just need to clean it out and put a bandage on it."

"But what _happened_?" I pressed, hobbling over to them. "What happened when you got to the torture room?"

"Took us for-fucking-ever," Murphy looked at me sternly. "But we finally found them. There was a hidden door at the back of the room. That's where they've been hiding out all this time."

I felt my breath hitch. "Did you kill them?" I managed to get out.

"The old man, aye." Connor pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of the cabinet to clean his wound. I had insisted on buying some after the last mishap with gunshot wounds. "The woman got away. Put up one hell of a fight."

I tried to hide my disappointment. There was only one left, I told myself on repeat. It didn't matter that she was the most dangerous of them all.

Murphy sensed what I was thinking and pulled me to him for a hug, neither of us caring that he was covered in sweat and grime and somebody else's blood. "Don't worry, Mimi. We'll get that fucking bitch."

"I hope so," I murmured into his chest.

It was late by then, long after midnight, so Murphy insisted that I go to bed while he and Connor took turns showering. It was nearly half an hour later when he let himself into my bedroom.

Though we had never discussed it, he'd been sleeping in my room since I'd been released from the hospital. It was as if he was afraid to leave me alone. I didn't mind. His sturdy presence beside me kept the nightmares of sizzling flesh at bay.

He crawled into the bed behind me, snuggling right up close so our bodies were spooning. He put his arms around me and kissed my neck, soft butterfly kisses that sent shivers down my spine. Soon his kisses became more serious, sucking and nibbling just enough to elicit a low moan. Of course I was horny at the worst possible time.

I rolled onto my back and he hovered above me, capturing my mouth with his intimately. He pulled my tank top over my head, leaving me topless beneath him. He moved that succulent mouth down to my chest, working on first one breast and then the other. I writhed beneath him, biting the corner of my pillow to keep from crying out. His lips moved ever lower, nipping lightly at the underside of my breasts before moving down to circle my naval and to caress the brand beside it.

Then his hand slid to the top of my knee and the fire was quenched just like that. I rolled over, away from him, and pulled my top back on. "Not tonight," I said shortly, mortified at what he'd think when he touched my disfigured legs. "I'm too tired."

He hesitated, surprised by my sudden one-eighty, but he of course respected my wishes. He put his arms around me gently, his face pressed into my shoulder like usual. After about fifteen minutes I felt his breathing steady and I knew he was asleep.

If only it was that easy for me.

**I apologize again for the month-long hiatus! Now that I have internet again it shouldn't take so long. As always, please review! I love you all! **


	25. Shot Through the Heart

**Ugh I hate moving! I hope we don't move again for a very long time! Anyway, sorry for the wait. Thanks to my wonderful reviewers! **

****Chapter 25

Shot Through the Heart

An angel's smile is what you sell

You promise me heaven and put me through hell

Chains of love got a hold on me

When passion's a prison you can't break free

-"Shot Through the Heart" by Bon Jovi

I had to go back to the hospital the next day for a follow-up visit. They had been reluctant to release me in the first place, and I'm sure FBI involvement was the only reason I'd been discharged at all. I was still iffy about letting the boys back near the hospital, what with things having become so dangerous, so Joan had asked off work to take me.

"How do your legs feel?" she asked as we sat in the waiting room. She was flipping halfheartedly through a 'Home and Garden' magazine, not really paying attention to it.

I shrugged, fiddling with the drawstring of my sweatpants absently. "Fine, I guess. I'm still taking the pain meds."

"Hopefully you'll be able to stop-" she began, but she stopped suddenly as a news report came on the miniature television above us. We both listened.

"Another victim was found last night in the abandoned warehouse that holds the largest torture chamber ever discovered on U.S. soil," the newscaster was announcing grimly. "The man, identified as sixty-two year old Costin Tirlea, was a Romanian immigrant known to be involved in a notorious torture gang. Though police have yet to make an official statement, many are wondering if this is the work of the Saints."

Joan and I exchanged a look, but we knew we couldn't discuss anything there. The hospital might have been the least safe place I'd ever been in. Thankfully my name was called not long after so we didn't have much time to dwell.

My doctor, a broad-shouldered man with a too-bright smile named Dr. Townsend, walked into the examination room about twenty minutes after we'd been shown in.

He turned that bright smile on Joan and me. "Well, good to see you again, Naomi. How are we feeling today?"

"We're feeling fine," I answered stoically.

He ignored my sarcastic remark, checking my chart. "Let's have a look at those legs, shall we?" Joan helped me out of my sweatpants, tucking them neatly over her arm, and Dr. Townsend clipped away the bandages.

He peered at my legs closely. My thighs, the parts that hadn't been burned at all, were quite hairy; it was difficult to shave your legs when half your skin had burnt off. He stared at them without comment for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he straightened up and scribbled something on my chart.

"How long do you wear the bandages every day?" he asked me, setting down the chart and leaning against the counter.

I shrugged. "All the time. I only take them off when I wash them and put the ointment on."

"Well, here's the thing," he said, as though talking to someone of very limited intelligence. "The skin needs to breathe in order to continue healing. Wearing bandages around your legs all the time is only hindering the process. I know it's November and they're calling for freezing temperatures next week, but, at least while you're at home, you should try and wear shorts and let the skin breathe."

I frowned. I sure as hell didn't want to be wearing shorts, showing off my grotesque disfigurement. Especially not in front of Murphy.

Dr. Townsend continued, oblivious to my misgivings. "Now, if you have to go out and wear pants, I'd keep the bandages on to protect from rubbing, but I'd try to keep that to a minimum. Also, what kind of sheets do you typically sleep on?"

"Cotton?"

"Good." He was still grinning that stupid doctor grin. "Why don't you start sleeping with your legs un-bandaged too. You can put the ointment on in the mornings and just wash your legs before getting into bed. I think we'll see a real improvement by Thanksgiving."

I didn't answer, simply glared at him sullenly, so Joan said quickly, "Thanks, Dr. Townsend. We're glad to hear she's coming along so well."

He thanked us and said goodbye, and a nurse came to re-bandage my legs for the trip home. Joan said nothing until we were safely in the car, knowing that I was in a foul mood.

"I have a lot of really comfortable cotton shorts," she said softly, steering the car towards the Irish neighborhood. "You can borrow some if you'd like."

"I have plenty of shorts," I answered shortly, crossing my arms over my coat. I just didn't want to wear them.

She didn't press the matter. Joan was nice like that.

She only stayed long enough to tell Connor in a hurried whisper what Dr. Townsend had said. She probably told him that I was unhappy about it too. She was mean like that. Then she said a quick goodbye and left.

I had settled myself on the sofa and turned the television on, wondering how long I'd get away with wearing pants. Not long, it seemed. Both Connor and Murphy came and planted themselves directly between me and the television set.

"What?" I demanded crossly, trying to peer around them.

"Joan said your doctor told you to wear shorts while you're at home and take the bandages off your legs," Connor said sternly. "Now we'd hate to have to _make_ you follow orders..." He left it hanging, almost like a threat.

I glared at them for a long moment, and then I got up and stormed into my bedroom the best I could using one crutch.

I had to look long and hard for a pair of shorts. It wasn't that I didn't have any; they were just all at the back of my closet. It was November, after all.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pulled the shorts on before I took the bandages off. My legs looked so raw and disgusting. I hated them. I made up my mind then and there that, if I had to wear shorts, I just wouldn't leave my bedroom.

That lasted all of a few hours. Then Murphy was knocking on my door, telling me that dinner was ready. I could tell it was stew again; the delicious smell wafted throughout the entire apartment. It was the only thing they could cook decently, after all.

"I'm not very hungry," I lied as my stomach gave a particularly distressed growl. "You and Connor just go ahead and eat without me."

"Fat fucking chance," he cracked, opening the door. I froze, horrified. I saw him glance for the briefest of moments at my scarred legs and misshapen, deformed feet. Then his gaze snapped up to my face, but I couldn't meet his eyes. I was too ashamed. "Come on, you haven't eaten all fucking day. And Connor slaved over this fucking stew. He'll be crushed it you don't eat any of it."

I glared at him for a moment. I felt like a sullen, chastised child and I didn't like it. Though I'd never been vain, I'd also never felt that I was horrifying to look at. Now I did. Eventually I reached for my crutch and got up, hobbling after him into the kitchen.

To Connor's credit, he didn't look at my legs when I was looking. I know they both must have been examining them when I was focused on my bowl. My legs and feet were like train wrecks. They were impossible to look away from.

"It's been a long week," Connor said, yawning. "What do you two say we pop in a movie and call it a night early?" He got to his feet and started carrying dishes to the sink. Since I had gotten back from the hospital, the boys had taken over the cooking and cleaning. It was nice of them to share the work, but honestly it left me a little bored.

I let out a snicker. "And what movies do you have that would interest me?"

"What's with the fucking attitude?" Murphy grinned. "You think we don't have good taste in movies?"

"I'll have you know that we have excellent fucking taste in movies," Connor added over his shoulder.

I crossed my arms. "Name one."

"I don't know about you two, but I'm in the mood for _Seven_." He was grinning.

I couldn't suppress my groan. "Of course you'd choose that sort of screwed-up movie to watch. Why am I not surprised?"

"Are you saying it's not a good movie?" Murphy arched his eyebrows at me.

"Well, I'm not saying that..."

So, once the twins had cleaned up the dinner dishes, we settled onto the couch, me in the middle like usual. They really seemed to think they were my bodyguards sometimes. Connor had turned off the overhead light, so the only light in the room came from the television.

I was actually so engrossed in the movie that I hardly noticed when Murphy put his hand on my knee. But then I did notice and my entire body tensed up. He didn't once look my way when he felt me tense, and he didn't move his hand.

We went to bed together when the movie was over. I rolled over onto my side, terrified that Murphy would touch my bare leg with his, as he usually slept in nothing more than a pair of boxers. He pressed up against me and started kissing my neck.

Maybe it was because I had so much pent-up energy or maybe it was because I liked him so much, but I couldn't resist him. He had me naked in a matter of seconds, the blankets thrown off. I was glad it was dark. At least he couldn't see the scars.

He kissed down my jawline and neck, across my collarbone and over the swell of my breasts. Tonight he only spared a few quick sucks for my nipples, then moved down. He spent more time on my brand, the half a heart. He pressed his lips to the raised flesh, running his tongue over it sensuously. Then he moved down lower, over my hipbone and down the inside of my thigh. The moan escaped my throat before I could stop it.

Then his lips were moving down further, towards my kneecap.

"Murphy," I said warningly, trying to stop him.

He ignored me, forcing my hand down to the mattress. His lips moved further down, and my breath hitched as his lips tenderly pressed against the first part of the burn. I held perfectly still, frozen, as he methodically kissed every inch of my burned skin, even across the bridge of my foot. Then he moved up my other leg, his lips sensuous and enticing. Then he was attached to my mouth again and I was more turned on than I could ever remember being. The telephone rang but we both ignored it.

He pressed himself to me firmly, our hips rocking together subconsciously. His hand slipped down below, between my thighs, massaging, exploring.

And then the door swung open, banging heavily against the wall. I let out a shriek and yanked the blankets up to cover the both of us.

"What the fuck, Connor?" Murphy growled, squinting through the darkness. "Ever heard of knocking?" Then he stopped, seeing the stricken look on his brother's face. "Connor? What the hell is going on?"

"It's Joan," he finally said. "The woman, Ana. She broke into Joan's apartment just a little bit ago and tried to kill her."

I sat straight up, panicked, clutching the sheets to my breasts. "Oh my god! Is she okay? Where is she now?"

"Smecker's got her. He's bringing her here for safekeeping." Connor's voice was shaking.

"Fuck," Murphy groaned. "Give us a fucking second, would you?"

Connor finally seemed to notice we were naked and hurried away, pulling the door shut behind him. Murphy automatically reached for his discarded shorts.

I quickly followed his lead, reaching for my own shorts and tank top. "Do you think she's okay? Oh, god. What if she's hurt?"

"If Smecker's got her, she's in good hands," Murphy answered grimly, pulling his jeans on. He didn't bother with his shirt. He helped me to my feet and handed me my crutch.

There was a pounding on the door as we entered the main part of the apartment, and Connor hurried forward and pulled it open. Smecker stood there in a heavy wool overcoat. Joan, huddled beside him, was shivering and sniffling. Connor stood aside and let them in. Though he'd never say so outright, I could tell he was really worried.

"I can't stay," Smecker said in a low voice, looking around as though he thought someone might have followed him. "Just keep her hidden. Keep her safe. And all of you be on your fucking guard."

"Aye, we'll do just that," Connor replied grimly. Smecker gave a short smile devoid of all mirth and was gone, leaving the four of us alone in the apartment.

I hobbled over to Joan and, dropping my crutch, enveloped her in the biggest hug I could give her. She burst into tears at once, burying her face in my shoulder. I steered her toward the couch the best I could on my still-sore feet and sat her down. Murphy hurried to pour her a shot of the strongest liquor we had in the house.

After she had taken three shots, her crying turned into sniffles again. "Tell us what happened," I told her softly.

She hiccuped, either from the liquor or the tears. "I had just gotten off work," she began in a shaky voice. "I got home and was just watching some television before I went to bed, eating a snack. And then there she was, like she'd been in my house all fucking day. She pointed a gun at my head. If I wasn't so used to bar fights at McGinty's I'd have a bullet through my brain right now. I threw a lamp at her and ran. I never looked back to see if she was following." She hiccuped again. Her hands hadn't quit shaking.

Connor and Murphy exchanged a glance, and this time they included me. I knew what they were thinking: we needed to get Ana and fast. She was gunning for everyone close to us now. She was one wily bitch.

Joan sniffed again. "I-I don't know what to do!"

"It's okay," Connor told her seriously, kneeling in front of her so she had to look him in the face. "You're going to stay with us for a while, until this whole thing blows over. We won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

"Like you didn't let anything happen to Mimi?" she snapped. There was an instant silence. I knew she regretted the words as soon as they'd left her lips, but they couldn't be taken back. They hung like a stagnant poison in the air around us.

Finally Murphy spoke, his voice like acid. "We learn from our mistakes, Joan. It won't happen again."

She looked down at her hands, red in the face, embarrassed. I decided to save her.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," I told her, getting heavily to my feet with the help of my crutch. Murphy looked like he was going to protest so I gave him a stern look and said, "You can sleep in your own room for a little while."

"No," Joan said, shrugging out of my grasp. "It's okay. I can sleep on the couch or something. I can't kick anyone out of their bed."

I paused. "Well, I do only have the one small bed," I mused. "There's Murphy's bed in the other bedroom though. It'll be a whole bed to yourself."

She gave me a suspicious look. "Why do you sound like this is something I might say no to?"

"Because it's Connor's room."

She looked at me long and hard, then glanced briefly at Connor, her eyes still red. "It'll be fine so long as he keeps his hands to himself."

It took us a while to get everyone settled back in to go to sleep. I had to find clothes of mine that would fit Joan (she was a few sizes bigger than me, especially in the chest department) and then I had to convince her that Connor would do nothing more than fall asleep and snore like an ass on his side of the room.

Eventually Murphy and I were able to get back in bed, but the mood was ruined. I lay there for a long time, and I could tell from his uneven breathing that he did too. Things were definitely out of hand here.

**I feel like I go on and on about Mimi's injuries, but since this is a first-person story and it was such a traumatic experience, I feel like Mimi's thoughts would revolve around this a lot. I hope it's not boring or anything. Please review!**


	26. Paralyzed

**Geez, I am SO sorry for this hiatus! Things have been really hectic lately, not that that's an excuse! Please forgive me!**

****Chapter 26

Paralyzed

This feels like another dream

Everyone grabbed ahold of me

Pulled from every side of me

I give up, I give up

There's nothing left of me

-"Paralyzed" by Rock Kills Kid

Though they normally ditched out pretty early after they'd woken up, the twins hung around the house for the next few days. Though they would never say it out loud, I knew they were really worried.

Joan was worried too, and she didn't even know all the details. Connor wouldn't let her leave the apartment at all; she'd had to take a leave of absence from her waitressing job. I wasn't allowed to leave, either. It wasn't long before we all started going stir-crazy. It was too cold to even open a window for a quick breath of fresh air.

And then, late Friday afternoon, Smecker called to say they had a lead on where Ana was hiding out. He wasn't sure if the cops should take care of her or if the Saints should, but Murphy quickly and grimly assured the FBI agent that this was personal. He and Connor planned to take care of it.

"Are you sure they should be going?" Joan asked me in a low, hoarse voice. The two of us were sitting on the couch, listening to the boys rustling about in their bedroom as they got ready for their hit.

I ran one finger absently over the burns on my leg. "No, they shouldn't be going at all. But they will."

"Can't we stop them?" she demanded. "This seems like the sort of thing the police should be taking care of!"

I let out a harsh laugh. "If you can get that through Murphy and Connor's thick heads, be my guest. I've been trying to talk them out of doing these things for months now."

She fell silent, perturbed.

The boys strode down the hallway into the living area, heavy peacoats on that I knew hid their multitude of automatic weapons. "Now, as soon as we leave, you lock this door and don't open it for _anybody_. Understand?" Connor demanded fiercely.

"We know how this works," I answered shortly. Well, at least _I_ did. "We'll be fine. You just make sure you don't get killed."

"We'll be sure to do that," Murphy said grimly, handing me one of the guns from their stash. "Make sure you don't use this unless it's absolutely necessary."

I accepted the gun, feeling the weight in my hands. I was reminded of the night at the hotel when I'd killed all those thugs. I quickly let the gun rest on my knee, feeling uncomfortable with it.

"Be good," Connor warned, giving Joan a long, hard look. "The both of you. And make sure you stay out of trouble."

"We will-" I started, but Murphy cut me off with a fierce kiss.

"We'll be back in a few hours," he promised. "With that fucking bitch's head on a silver platter." And then, tucking their rosaries down the front of their shirts, they were gone. Joan and I were alone in the apartment.

She looked at the gun, sitting on the coffee table, with a certain amount of apprehension. "Do you know how to shoot that thing?" she demanded.

"Mostly." I shrugged. "Want to watch a movie? The VCR is terrible but at least it's something to do."

She seemed completely at a loss. "How can you possibly watch a movie when they're out there doing who knows what?"

"It's sort of the only way to get through it. You've got to keep yourself occupied," I told her grimly.

The boys didn't have many movies that appealed to me, but I found 'Robin Hood: Men in Tights' buried behind the TV. Clearly one of Connor's guilty pleasures. I popped it into the VCR and settled back on the sofa with Joan to watch. It was definitely a nice change to have someone waiting with me.

We were both laughing, Joan nearly in tears (she'd never seen the film before), when the glass in the window shattered and something whizzed across the room to lodge in the wall above the stove. Joan screamed and we both threw ourselves to the ground. I let out a grunt as the burn on my left leg hit the floor.

"What the hell is going on?" Joan demanded frantically, lifting her head a fraction of an inch.

"Keep your head down!" I snarled, forcing her back to the floor as another volley of gunfire came through the window.

And then there was crunching glass and she was in the apartment. Ana. Dressed head-to-toe in black, a semiautomatic in her hand. The look in her eyes was terrifying; there was no longer anything sane about her.

"_Little pet_," she crooned, pointing the gun straight at me and cocking the trigger. "_I'm so happy we have a chance to catch up_."

I glanced at the gun Murphy had left me. It was still sitting on the coffee table, well within reach. Quick as a flash I grabbed it. She fired at me but missed, the bullet going into the refrigerator with a hissing noise. Then I was on my knees, my own weapon leveled straight at her heartless chest.

"Get up, Joan," I said sternly. She'd become nothing more than a quivering mess on the floor beside me. She did so, trembling, and helped me to my own feet. I could hardly stand on them. I had still been using my one crutch for the most part.

"_How's this going to go down, little pet_?" Ana asked archly, the corners of her mouth turning up. _"If you pull the trigger, I'll shoot_."

"_Doesn't that work both ways_?" I demanded in her native Romanian. _"If you pull the trigger, I'll shoot. We both die either way_."

Her eyes lit up suddenly, her smile widening. "_Ah, but don't you see, little pet_? _I have nothing left to live for. My cousin, my brother, my uncle. You've killed them all. Our enterprise is nothing more than dust after this. Death, for the both of us, is the only goal we can achieve here_."

I gritted my teeth. How could she accept death so calmly? It was nearly impossible to believe I'd felt the same way just nine months ago. I needed a plan, and fast. "_Unfortunately for you, I didn't kill any of your family_," I told her, cocking the trigger of my gun ever-so-quietly. There was madness in her eyes; I could only hope that she wasn't clear-headed. "_It was the Saints. If you kill me, then I'll kill you and you'll never be able to kill them_."

The smile widened even more; she was entirely insane. "_I know what you are to them. Their little whore, their precious little princess_. _Your death would be enough_."

"_Then you're in luck_." Oh god, I was really going to do this. "_Because I'm ready too_-!" I pulled the trigger before I finished my sentence, catching her off guard. I knew the bullet hit her somewhere, because she cried out and staggered back a few steps, but I didn't stop to see the extent of the damage. "Run!" I screamed to Joan.

She didn't have to be told twice. She had the door unlocked before I could hardly move, and then the two of us were running out the door. We didn't chance the elevator, choosing the stairs instead. And then we were out the door of the tenement, into the freezing November evening.

Winter had descended on Boston quickly this year, and there was already about a foot of snow on the ground when we stumbled outside. We hadn't run more than a few yards when I had to stop. The raw skin on my legs was burning and my feet were on fire. I knew I wasn't going to make it.

"What are you doing?" Joan panted, clutching at my arm, trying to drag me along the street. It was deserted at that hour, nearly midnight.

I shook my head. "I can't do it, Joan. I'm barefoot and in shorts, for god's sake. There's no way I'm going to get away. I can barely walk without my crutch, much less run."

"You can't just give up!" Joan insisted. I could hear the panic in her voice. She was not ready for this type of confrontation. "I'll carry you! I'll carry you and we'll both get out of here!"

"No way," I said sternly. "I weigh nearly as much as you. She'll catch up with us in no time if we do that. No, I'm going to hide here. Hopefully she'll just walk right by me. And even if she doesn't, I've still got this gun." I didn't mention the fact that Ana still had a gun too. "You need to go to the police station. Get Smecker. _Only_ Smecker. Get him alone and tell him exactly what happened. He'll know what to do."

"I can't leave you!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, freezing in the night air. "She's going to kill you, Mimi!"

"Just go!" There wasn't time to argue this. At least one of us had to make it out of this alive. I gave her a little push and she went off running through the snow, barefoot herself.

I glanced around. I'd wasted precious time arguing with her. It was a miracle Ana wasn't there already. Hobbling, I threw myself behind a dumpster, pressing myself between the freezing metal and the brick wall of the next building over. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure Ana would hear it if she passed by my hiding place. I quickly checked the gun's clip. Only three more rounds. I'd better make them count.

The door to the tenement opened and I could hear Ana's heels on the cement steps even through the thick layer of snow that was falling all around us. "_Little pet_," she crooned, her voice sounding eerily loud in the quiet of the snow. "_That wasn't very nice, now was it_? _Come out, come out, wherever you are_!" The sing-song tone in her voice sent a shiver up my spine.

I had two choices, I thought to myself. I could either wait here and hope she didn't notice me, or I could fire and hope I had the element of surprise. If she walked past my hiding spot and happened to look back, she'd see me right away. I was practically out in the open from that angle. I decided I had no choice. I'd have to try and catch her off guard.

Steeling my will, I poked my head over the top of the dumpster and fired off the three rounds left in my gun in the direction her voice had been coming from, praying to Connor and Murphy's god that I'd hit something. My heart sank right down into my stomach. The bullets were in the brick wall of the building, not Ana.

And then she was behind me. There was a sharp pain against the back of my skull and I blacked out.

**Haha, I guess Mimi isn't as good of a shot as she thought. CLIFFY! I promise it won't be so long between updates next time! Please review!**


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